On a Dark Horse
by TarnishedArmour
Summary: Jonah Prowse: Outlaw, father, boss, business owner, general pain in the gluteus maximus. Who added "one of the best hopes for survival" to his resume? AU, adheres to basic Jericho canon timeline, includes most characters & some sometimes major OCs.
1. The Days After: 3

**Warnings: ** None yet, but there will be violence, memories of abuse, and maybe some other things that make this a definite R rating (I guess it's M here) for content. The post-apocalyptic world isn't a nice one--but it's not the stuff of Hollywood, either. I have no idea where this is going, but I do know that I have good, non-MarySue intentions for a few new characters. Assume nothing.

No particular 'ship; Jonah-centric, simply because he's so badly used…

Yes, this is AU, mostly because there was some *incredibly* awful writing early on that alienated (and then booted) one of the most interesting characters in the series…not to insult the writers, but there was so much wonderful, wonderful opportunity here that was outright quashed. And please, Johnston not recognizing the devil he knows? Since when???

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Jonah looked over at the girl on the other side of the car. She had more than a bit of nerve, but that was to be expected. He'd had a hand in raising her, after all.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, on a sigh. It had barely been three days since the bombs and here she was, demanding he get in her car and go with her to see Mayor Johnston Green. "What could you possibly want with me? You know he's just going to get irritated--maybe even throw me in jail." Again. It'd been a long while since he'd gone back into town openly. Johnston had finally gotten sick of him, and there were precious few people that Jonah didn't want to cross. Johnston was at the top of that short list. For all the man was older and more out of shape, he'd been in worse places longer than Jonah.

"Because--" she started. Then she stopped. "Do you want the truth, Jonah, or do you want me to lie to you?"

"Lie to me, kid," he said, grinning at her. How had she always managed to do this to him? She had instituted a policy of absolute honesty with him years ago--even when he didn't want to hear or speak truth. But they managed it. And so far, they were still speaking.

"Fine. I want him to leave Gail and run away with me. Dammit, the woman is twice my age! What could he possibly see in her?" A mock pout completed the picture and Jonah choked on his laughter.

"Good luck with that one, kid." He chuckled again at the image of this little spitfire in a fight with Gail Green for the mayor.

"But…but…but…I NEEEEED HIM!" she wailed, making Jonah laugh again. She kept up her monologue about her insane passion for a man almost twice her age all the way into town. It took an extreme act of will for Jonah to pull on his customary badass face and forget the images of this girl with Johnston. He couldn't help the way his mouth twitched when he picture them glaring at each other over some ridiculous argument. He wasn't sure who would win.

Aylah Wilson looked over at Jonah as he pulled on his usual gruff, rough manner. It was a familiar face, and one she knew as well as her own. She parked next to Jericho Town Hall and slowly climbed out of the car. Jonah, she knew, was doing the same on his side, though he added the casual deposit of his sunglasses to the dash. That she was the one getting out of the driver's side was enough to get attention from the people on the street. They walked inside, unconsciously falling into step as they jogged up the steps.

Johnston Green was in his office, talking to Jake and Eric.

"The power's not back on yet, and we don't know how long it will be. We need to check on the gen--" He stopped speaking and his eyes flashed fire. "Jonah." The word was soft, almost a hiss. It certainly got the attention of the younger Greens.

"Johnston," Jonah replied, the gravel of his voice almost caressing the vowels. It spurred on the pure devilishness of the outlaw to bait the man. What would Johnston do if he pushed too far one day? There was always the temptation to find out. "Eric." A crisp, clean dismissal. He saw the uncertainty in Eric's eyes, the flash of fire in Johnston's. "Jake," he nearly purred, watching the same flash of defiance enter those dark eyes. Jake had pushed slightly ahead of Eric, as though he were guarding his older brother from Jonah.

"Jonah," Jake replied, his voice even. There was an emotionless quality to it that Jonah didn't recognize. Jake would have to be watched. He knew a great deal and he knew, perhaps, too much. Yes, Jake had changed from the half-wild, half-kid who'd driven and flown for him so many years ago. Before Chris… Jonah stopped that line of thought with a vengance.

"Checking the generators is fine," Aylah said, dismissing the posturing that somehow always took place when Jonah entered a room with other males in it, "but I'd plan for an extended blackout. The power plant is in Rogue River, and who knows how long it'll keep running, especially since it has to have the fuel replenished at least twice a month. It's still a fossil-fuel plant, but I can't remember which it burns."

"I'll keep that in mind," Johnston said, not taking his eyes from Jonah.

Aylay's eyes narrowed. "You'd better. The diesel generators in town can be converted to biodiesel, but it'll take a while to do that and more corn than we've got."

That got Johnston's gaze away from the unwanted man from outside of town and it fell on a young woman, about Jake's age, that looked oddly familiar. "If you don't mind me askin', miss, what is your name?"

"I'm--" she began.

"Silence," Jake said, eyes growing wide with recognition. He'd completely forgotten about this girl.

"I prefer Aylah," she replied, her tone dry rather than the cold Jonah had expected. "I'm surprised you remember, Jake." She waited for a response. She hadn't been exactly memorable in school. In fact, there were many days when everyone had overlooked her, and that had been just fine.

"Well, Aylah, I'm sure that--" Johnston began, only to be interrupted by her again.

"But that's not why we're here," she interrupted Johnston without a trace of the shyness Jake had remembered and expected. "And this will take a while."

"Dad, I've got to check on April at the clinic. She said--" Eric stopped as Johnston held up his hand.

"Go ahead, son. Make sure your mother remembers to eat instead of just badgering April about it."

"Right." With that, Eric turned and left, not sure if he was grateful or irritated about leaving Jake and Johnston in a closed room with Jonah Prowse.

As soon as the door closed behind Eric, Aylah moved so that she could see Johnston and Jonah at the same time. She wasn't particularly worried about Jake. Later she would wonder about that assessment and reconsider her stance with the youngest Green boy.

"Look, I know you don't particularly want Jonah here, and I know you, Jonah, don't want to be here, but this is something we need to figure out." Aylah was getting tired of the density of the average, and some above-average, male brain. Why was it they always seemed to deal with their testosterone first and then think things through?

"What is?" Jake asked, staring at the girl who'd been so invisible in school that he knew few people even remembered she'd gone to Jericho Elementary. If it hadn't been for lunch detention, he wouldn't have known she even existed. In fact, he had doubted his memory after she disappeared from Jericho in seventh grade. Or was she a year ahead of him?

"Jonah's place in town--his gang's place in town."

"Aylah, I don't run a 'gang', per se…" Jonah began, objecting to her verbiage. Johnston had choked on his coffee and was busy clearing his throat. Jake was openly slack-jawed.

"Call it what it is, Jonah. Do you prefer mini-Mafia? Racket?" She gave him a long look while Jonah glared at her.

"Get to the point quickly, kid, or I walk." Jonah's tone was rougher than usual with her, but Aylah was stubborn. She'd had to be.

"Go ahead and start walkin'. I do not like the way this conversation is heading." Johnston's tone was soft from the coughing, but terse, his eyes less friendly than Jake could remember seeing them.

"There are a lot of things we don't have to like, but here's the question, Mayor Green: Which do you take, the devil you know, or the devil you haven't met yet?" She didn't back down, her eyes turning to and narrowing on a man that Jonah had always seemed to respect for his practicality and fair dealing. Now she wondered what Jonah had been taking when he spoke that way. Granted, it was always in private, but still.

"That's a stupid question--the one you know." Jake answered easily, preempting his father. He knew this answer; he knew this question too well. He'd lived it.

"Exactly," Aylah said, smiling at Jake. "And here he is," she motioned to Jonah, reminding Jake of a demonic Vannah White. "You can have Jonah in town, a type of payment for keeping an eye on the highways, or you can invite in whatever comes this way."

"You mean to trade for protection for this town? In all my years as mayor, I've never heard anything so patently ridiculous. This is America--" Johnston sat back in his chair, comfortable now with the direction this was heading. There was no way in this sweet Earth he'd let Jonah have free run in the town in exchange for some nebulous and easily exaggerated protection from out-of-towners that were no more than desperate women and children trying to get to safety.

"And this is the law of supply and demand," Aylah countered. God bless capitalism, she thought as she watched Johnston's eyes narrow while he considered that point. "So far, it's been pretty calm. So far, we haven't had anyone trying to come in and simply take. How long do you think that will last? The prison bus? Sheriff--was it still Reilly?" At Johnston's nod, she continued. He was thinking about it now, not just reacting. "How many others will it take before you decide that setting up some sort of border-control is necessary? More to the point, how much need will have to exist in town before the good people of Jericho decide to take matters into their own hands and start raiding travellers. It can happen; don't delude yourself." Another thinking point for Johnston. He knew well the lawlessness that came with chaos. "You need this--"

"And I'm not a commodity, kid," Jonah said, cutting her off. "You can't trade my services for me. I'm leaving in three minutes, with or without you." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. His hand was on the knob when one word stopped him.

"Truth," she said softly. "The question you asked me? I'll give you the truth now." She walked up to him as he looked over his shoulder, then turned to face her. They were inches apart. "You're getting tired, Jonah. Your reflexes aren't as fast, you're nowhere near as angry, and you're riding on a reputation you built years ago as the local outlaw. There are nine men with you now, and three of them can take you at any time. One is getting hungry enough to try. You need this town as much as this town needs you. Don't try to tell me you don't."

Fire flashed in Jonah's eyes as he stared at her. She had finally pushed him. They both knew it would have to happen one day, but this time, Jonah tensed and prepared for her attack. He'd never start this fight for control, but he'd make sure he finished it. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kick your --"

Instead of attacking him, she leaned into him and put her arms around his waist. When she had her head on his shoulder she finally spoke. "Because you saved my life twenty years ago. It's time I returned the favour." With her eyes closed and breath ghosting over his neck, she waited.

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	2. The Days After: 3, cont

**Timestamp:** Bombs + 3

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Jonah & Aylah stood there for a long moment. When he wrapped his arms around her, turned and kissed her lips lightly, she didn't need any more. She knew she had his full attention and cooperation. It was the kiss as much as the last line that had caught the attention of the other two men.

"You keep the highways clear of danger--with assistance from a security patrol made up of townsmen. You have the heavy-moving equipment for the town. You locate necessities and bring them here for trade or use. You find things, like gas and ammo and other things that only you have the contacts to get on short notice. You provide machines, machine tools, and parts for the town, for a fair price. You get a little more flexible with the type of work you do, and in return," she lifted her head to look at Johnston, "Jonah and the boys are welcome in town. No vultures watching and no cops waiting to pounce. No doubled prices, no barred doors on businesses. They'll behave in town--Boy Scouts, even. They'll deal fairly with the people here, help little old ladies cross streets, save kittens from trees, the usual. In return, they get to go to the bar, dance with the daughters--the ones of age, Jonah, or I'll do the reminding--and create or repair their ties here. There are skills these men have that most people here don't. There are things in town they need, too, and it's more than women and alcohol."

Johnston was quiet. Jonah was quiet. Jake, however, was not.

"Define danger," he spat. "Does that include families? Women and children?"

Jonah released Aylah and stepped forward. "Be careful, Jake. I've never hurt a woman or a child."

"Except Chris." There was the challenge. "You pushed him to do that job--" Jake pushed forward into the older man's personal space. It was one thing to know what he'd done, it was another to listen to someone sticking up for Jonah when it was obvious the girl didn't know anything about him. From terminally shy girl in school to Jonah's sweet young thing--one helluva leap.

"And he needed a lookout, someone to watch his back. That was you--" Furious blue eyes accused Jake of running out. Johnston rose from his seat, ready to break up the fight that was brewing in the air, but it was a snapped comment from the side that broke the rising tension in the room.

"Chris made his own decisions, just as you did, Jonah, and you, Jake. Don't try to blame his death on anyone else." Aylah walked up and nudged between the men, both of them irritated at her intrusion. They glared at her, but looks couldn't hurt her anymore. "And you can settle this later. Yell, cuss, punch each other--I don't care. Right now, there are other worries."

"You seem to be pretty sure that this national emergency isn't going to be resolved in good time," Johnston said, curious about this young woman who seemed to be so fearless. He remembered the girl Jake had called 'Silence' so many years ago--and this wasn't the same girl. Couldn't be. Unless she was possessed, but then with the way things were going, that wasn't outside of the realm of possibilities. And why was she snuggling up to a man old enough to be her father?

"Let me put it this way," she breathed out heavily and continued, "we know of two bombs. Chances are there was at least one more. Best case, it was in some Godforsaken section of the desert and everything will be back together in a few days and we'll all be very depressed every year on the anniversary date. Worst case there was more than one, we can kiss at least five major cities--including D.C., New York, Arlington, Cheyenne, L.A., and others--goodbye, we're the last ones in the U.S. with working anything, a strictly limited amount of fuel that will not be replenished until we manage to create a refinery & oil well here, and a lightly contaminated water and food supply, which means we slowly amass enough radiation to die very, very slowly, thus ending life in the section of North America we call the U.S. I sincerely hope it's the first, but I'm preparing for the second. Reality should fall somewhere in between." Aylah was matter-of-fact. It was logic that was hard to argue with, and Johnston didn't waste time when logic was sound.

"And so you suggest letting Jonah and his men in town will create some sort of safety net for us, but keep the dangers in our immediate danger to a minimum." Johnston sat back down and leaned back in his chair. "Interesting. I hadn't quite thought of this situation in those terms, but then I've been a bit busy to get philosophical about it."

Aylah tipped her head to the side and smiled. "Time? Took too much just to get here--I live in the Rogue. It's my general philosophy of life--hope for the best, expect the worst, and neither one will happen." She shrugged. "No matter what, it's best to give a thought to security and egress now, instead of later."

"True." Johnston looked at Jonah, then said, "Any trouble in town and the one that caused it isn't welcome back."

"And if someone else starts it?" Jonah knew the cost of leading these men, even if he was riding on a reputation he'd long-since established, and their price was loyalty. Most of them had been screwed over by something or someone so badly they needed proof that someone was looking out for them. If he ever failed them, he knew it would be his last hours for this world.

"Then they'll be dealt with, and your boy will be allowed to return. But it will require more than just a he-said-she-said situation. No proof, and it's a probationary period." It seemed that Johnston was willing to be reasonable.

"For both parties," Jonah clarified, unwilling to let this go easily. He didn't dare let that last bit apply only to his boys.

"Depending upon the offense, it may be a few hours helping out someone who needs it or just not going wherever they came from for a day or so. If it's bad enough, then one or both parties will be sent to cool off." Johnston was reasonable. It surprised Jonah enough that he asked the next question as a statement.

"For a person inside the city limits, it's a bit different." The point was simple: Kicking out Jonah's guys was a lot more of a punishment than kicking out someone who had easy access to Main Street.

"House arrest, then, if we can enforce it. If we can afford to enforce it--for either party." Johnston added that last as a caution. "May be that your boys just go out on a long patrol, and when they come back, clean slate." It was more than reasonable. If Jonah's men were needed elsewhere, they wouldn't be able to stay in town anyway.

"Agreed." Jonah turned to Aylah. "Are you happy now? Ready to go?"

"Nope. You two haven't sealed the bargain." She smiled at them. Jonah had learned long ago to mistrust that big smile.

Jake snorted in the corner. "I can't believe you're doing this," he said to his father, just loud enough for Jonah to hear.

"You have no idea how many times I've said the same thing about you, Jake. Don't argue with me now." He turned back to Aylah. "You have a contract or something?" She seemed to have thought this out--who knows? Maybe she had gotten hold of a lawyer crazy enough to draft a contract.

"Nope." She paused, stretching the moment as long as she could. Three pairs of eyes grew narrow as the men glared at her silence. Jake's jaw was showing a distinct tic. "I have the address for Bailey's."

Jake suddenly laughed. He couldn't help it. Silence may be a lot of things, but she wasn't stupid. It was one thing for a man born in Jericho to give his word. It was another to drink with him after giving it. Now, in the eyes of all the town, Jonah would be seen as welcome in Jericho by Mayor Johnston Green. When they told the terms and conditions of their agreement to the people at Bailey's, the message would spread through town as quick as breath.

There was nothing left but to go to Bailey's. To do otherwise would put the whole question in doubt now. And this was something Jake just had to see…Johnston James Green, Mayor of Jericho, retired Army Ranger, father of the town's golden boy and the town screw-up, drinking with Jonah Prowse, the dark horse of Jericho, and the most feared local in seventy years. Johnston sighed.

"Let me get my coat. We may as well just walk." His actions suited his words, and Jake, still wearing his coat, fell in with his father. Jonah and Aylah walked out ahead of them, since they were closer to the door and still wearing their coats.

"Devious brat," Jonah muttered as he steered her to the door, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

"Only yourself to blame, Big J," she murmured sweetly, looking up at him and fluttering her eyelashes. "You taught me well."

Jake and Johnston both wondered what this little slip of a thing had said to make Jonah chuckle and shake his head. Whatever it was, they could both see Aylah Wilson as a prominent part of this agreement, but in what capacity?

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	3. The Days After: 3, cont 2

**Timestamp: **Same as chapters 1 & 2, Bombs + 3; some events tweaked from original timeline

**A/N**: Okay, this is not a Mary Sue, even though first blush kinda looks that way. Believe me, Aylah's going to have some serious issues, but she's not an airhead, either. The practical side of Johnston is what I'm invoking here, not some latent bad-boy streak.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned them, I'd be at CBS headquarters nagging people to give my job back to me. I'm not, and I don't. But I do wish the writers were again employed to work on Jericho… Some parts may be similar to/identical to the episodes--that's done purposefully, but not with the intent of plagiarism. Tie-in moments are keys to continuity and pulling this together.

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The number of doubletakes the people of Jericho made when they say Johnston, Jake, Jonah and some girl they didn't recognize walking down the street together was amusing. The shocked silence that followed their entry was more than a bit disturbing. Even Mary couldn't think of anything to say in greeting.

"Ah, Mary," Johnston said, his tone easy as every. "I need four glasses and a bottle of Black Label, if you have any left."

Mary blinked, then actually stuttered. "S-s-sure, Mayor Green." She didn't start moving until the four started walking to a booth next to the Main Street window. Her hands were shaking and she stared at them as she fumbled through motions she had made second nature over the years.

Jonah and Johnston settled into their seats easily. Jake and Aylah slid in first, leaving the older men the ability to exit quickly, for whatever occasion arose.

"Place hasn't changed much," Jonah commented, looking around. "Mechanical bull is gone."

"Not that you ever rode it," Johnston replied, leaning back. "Seem to recall you didn't like ridin' much."

"I prefer machines. Less attitude." Jonah did not get along well with horses, much to Johnston's amusement.

"Says the mechanic," Aylah added, "who happens to restore muscle cars as a hobby. How much more attitude can you get than a vintage engine that needs to be rebuilt?"

"You know cars?" Jake asked, curious again. What was it about women that kept him so interested in, well, everything? Other than the obvious, of course. There was always that, but he wasn't really looking for that.

"Mm. Among other things," Aylah said, leaving the subject where it was. Jonah wouldn't.

"She's too modest. Mechanical and electrical engineer, working in Rogue River for the manufacturing complex. Top of her class," he added, a tug at his lip indicating more than a little pride.

"Really?" Now Johnston was very interested in the information she had available. "We'll talk about our options for the town," he paused as Mary arrived. "Thank you, Mary. 'Preciate it." He took the unopened bottle of Black Label and placed the glasses around the table. With an obviously practiced wrist, he poured shots around.

Jonah and Johnston lifted their glasses. "The deal," Johnston said.

"The deal," Jonah echoed. They touched glasses and drank simultaneously, the almost determined background noise fading out into silence as Jake and Aylah completed the tradition that was as old as the town itself.

"Heard and witnessed," they chorused as they raised their glasses and drank. Aylah hissed as the whiskey burned its way down her throat and exploded in her stomach. She really needed to eat something.

A sudden spate of static & Mandarin forestalled any comments about the whiskey from the four people in the center of the town's attention. Faces snapped to the televisions and eyes widened in horror as a map of the U.S. with blinking red rings filled the screen. The man in suit and tie was secondary to the sight of those concentric circles expanding and collapsing over and over again.

"My God," someone whispered.

"What language is that? Korean?" another anonymous comment.

"I think it's Chinese," a lady added.

"Mandarin," Hawkins said, looking at the screens, then away as Mary grabbed for her radio.

"Move it back! We had something…" The picture faded out, then back in again as the men on the roof moved the huge dish back a few inches. Jonah and Johnston sprang up from their seats, the open bottle forgotten as they moved toward the front of the room. Gray Anderson somehow appeared from the crowd behind Jake and Aylah.

"Question is," Jake said to no one in particular, "are they just reporting it, or are they behind it?'

"We need more information," Johnston said, absently as he marked locations. Damn--couldn't see Washington D.C. Was it still there?

"We'll put together a team to go out on the main highways. North, South, East, and West," Jake was still speaking as he walked over to the map that had been out on one of the tables near the bar. It was a Kansas map, and that was enough.

"I'll go," Gray offered, looking at the four main highways. "I'll head toward Topeka."

The conversation continued and someone made a comment about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Aylah was half listening to the men, which now included Jonah and Johnston, and added her own to the conversation.

"Pity we don't have any pilots around here," she said, staring at the static, hoping the images would return.

"What?" Gray looked at her oddly, thinking she was drunk. In fact, she almost was. Whiskey on an empty stomach for a woman who almost never drank was lethal.

"Pilots. You know, the people who hop into airplanes and then depend upon said mechanical contrivances to defy gravity? Ring a bell?" She turned to look at the tall, bald man. It was dislike at first sight. "And who are you?"

"Gray Anderson. I own part of the salt mine. You are?" He didn't think much of this little snippet chiming in on a conversation that was going to be important to the whole town. Pilot? Who needed a pilot? They needed information.

"Aylah Wilson." She looked at Johnston, dismissing Gray out of hand. "Know anyone who can fly older commuter planes or cropdusters?"

Johnston wasn't saying anything. He was just looking at Jake. So was Jonah. Neither of them looked happy.

"Why? There's no ATC," at Aylah's questioning expression, Jake clarified, "Air Traffic Control. It'd be--" He stopped suddenly. The word suicide had been on his tongue, but her question finally clicked. "The airport. The small planes--they don't run on computers. Especially the older dusters--and we've got plenty of fuel for them."

Jake started for the door, Aylah a step behind him. When he stopped on the sidewalk and looked around, she called him. "Hey, Jake? Need a car?" She jingled the keys in the air meaningfully.

"Yeah, thanks." He reached for the keys.

"Take me with you." She moved the keys out of his reach.

"Why?" Jake was surprised enough to stop his reach. He looked down at the girl, at least six inches shorter than he was.

"So you'll have someone who can help you check out the plane. I may not know aviation systems well, but I can spot mechanical problems in complex systems, check pressures, the usual. I can also figure out how to work the tower radio so you can call back." She was being patient, but this boy was enough to try the patience of a saint, and Lord knew she was hardly that.

Jake smiled suddenly. "Makes sense."

Aylah snorted. "If you'd thought before you started running, you'd've figured this much out, too." She headed for the car she'd driven to town, then tossed Jake the keys after unlocking her door. When he raised his eyebrows, she added wryly, "No lunch." She folded herself into the passenger's seat and closed the door.

"Lightweight," he teased as he slid into the driver's seat. He reached over and snagged Jonah's sunglasses from the dash.

Aylah raised her eyebrows, and her expression clearly asked if he knew what he was doing in commandeering Jonah's good shades.

"Gets brighter in the air," he explained, grinning as he saw half of Bailey's empty out onto the sidewalk. The irritated expression on Jonah's face made it worthwhile. The irritated expression on his father's helped him decide to at least give a little explanation for the sudden departure. He turned to drive down the wrong side of the street and stopped in front of his father. "Aerial survey first. Then, when I get back, we'll talk about what the best routes to take out of town. The planes here are small enough that, if I stay low and in local airspace, I won't affect anything the military may have going."

"Good idea, son. Keep the flight short. How much time will you need to prepare for the flight?"

"Probably two hours to pick the plane and give it a pre-flight once-over. If there are any problems, I'll have to choose a different plane and then start the check again. I'd say no more than four hours before I'm in the air." Jake was clicking over his checklists in his head. "Rained much lately?"

"What?" Johnston was thrown by the question. "What does that--look, you do what you need to do and if you're not in the air within those four hours, we'll send Old Man Adams down there to help you. He's run the airport for years. We'll get a camera, so maybe you can snap a few shots out the window..."

While Jake and Johnston were talking, for information and the benefit of the spectators, Jonah had walked around the back of the car. His car. He tapped the glass.

Aylah rolled down her window and Jonah leaned down, resting his forearms on the door. His familiar face filled the open window and when he spoke, his voice was unusually quiet.

"Aylah?" It was the only question Jonah would ask, and he didn't need to say anything else.

"Going to help check the systems, make sure the tower radio is working." Jonah would understand the rest of it. She was going to keep an eye on Jake, make sure she tracked his plane, just in case. "Also so that I can run for help, if we need it. Will you be here or at your place?"

"Here for a while yet. I'm going to send Billy for the boys, explain things to them on the edge of town. We'll be working on a few other things, so you may have to wait for a response." The low, rough voice held a note of concern.

"What?" She questioned his tone of voice, not his words.

"You fix planes, too?" The question was almost humourous. He knew better.

"I can spot rusty engine parts and poorly connected lines as well as any, Big J. Besides, you need to be here for the boys today. If anything needs to be done, we'll get word to Old Man Adams. If he can't figure out a way to fix it or make it right, it's beyond hope…and then I can scavenge for parts." Once again, Aylah was ahead of the game.

"My favourite little mercenary," he murmured, more than a bit proud of her thinking ahead. It was so much like what he'd done with his businesses…

"My favourite outlaw," she replied, blowing him a kiss.

Before he stood up, he levelled a look at Jake. "Take care of her."

Jake blinked in surprise when Jonah didn't even wait for a reply. It felt like five years ago, when Jonah could count on him to take orders like that without hesitation. He didn't know if it bothered him or not that he would feel that old connection falling into place now. In a way it galled, but after so many screw-ups, it felt good, too. No one really looked to him to get things right--not around here. Not until Hell came to Earth. He forced the emotions aside and concentrated on what he needed. With the weather information he'd needed and more than one person volunteering to help, should they send word to Bailey's--one even offered to climb the water tower and keep a line-of-sight on the airfield for them!--Jake was ready to go.

When he stepped on the gas and pulled away from the curb and the crowd, the questions in his head had nothing to do with the planes and everything to do with the girl--woman--beside him.

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	4. The Days After: 3, cont 3

**A/N:** I recall little about planes. I'm picking smaller, older aircraft available before the rampant additions of computer-controlled everything. No, specs aren't going to be correct. No, I'm not a pilot. And NO, (disclaimer) I don't own any of this (except Aylah, her smart mouth, and any other OCs!)--forgot that part earlier. :-)

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Aylah bit off a curse as she skinned her knuckle on a side panel. The wrench slipped out of her hand and fell on her foot. That actually didn't hurt, since she was wearing her favourite steel-toed workboots. She sucked on her knuckle and spoke around it.

"It's no good, Jake. The damned thing's rusted shut. Whoever was responsible for maintenance on this one needs to have his ass kicked. Multiple times." Aylah slammed the cover and started putting the bolts back in place. Strike five. Or was it six? Did it matter? There were only so many planes available to Jericho.

Jake rubbed his eyes. This was worse than he'd thought. The only people who were working on the planes now were the duster pilots, and there were some serious problems on some of those planes. Granted, dusters were older planes, but that just made maintenance easier--less complicated systems to tear out and put back, right? "Okay, so it's only been an hour and a half. Let's check the Cessna and the Extra."

"Which ones are those?" Aylah sounded less than hopeful. This old duster had been around for years, and Jake swore that the Cormans flew her every year to dust their fields and the Clarinds' fields, but Aylah didn't believe it. "Do the same people do the maintenance on those engines?"

"No. The Extra belongs to the Clarind family--they use it for trips to hospital for the older generation." Jake caught Aylah's incredulous look. "Major heart problem and two cancer patients. The heart problem belonged to Thomas, actually. He's about three years younger than I am. They had the money and the desire, so they got the little plane to take them Denver or wherever they needed to go. It's about fifteen. The Cessna is new--well, newer. It's about seven years old and doesn't look like it's seen much airtime."

"You can tell that by standing halfway across the airfield from it?"

"Well, yeah. The indicators are all there." He walked toward the Cessna. "The prop casings still have the factory paint. The props are almost pristine, and the nose is perfect. No birds have run into this one at high speed."

"You make it sound like birds tend to be suicidal."

"So long as they don't miss the props and head straight into the engine, they are."

"So…what's the difference?"

"If they have good timing and get into the engine, they're homicidal."

"Very funny." Aylah sized up the two choices. "Nothing against the Clarinds, but if this Cessna is newer and doesn't use computer control for its important systems, we'll start giving this on the once-over. She looks steady and sturdy from here--no fluids obvious or dripping, seals solid against moisture."

"Let's open her up, Doc," Jake said, moving to the nose to check start unscrewing the access panel.

"I'll look over the engines," Aylah said, reaching for the flashlight. This looked like a basic turboprop setup, and she'd dealt with those more than once, though not attached to a working plane. The airplane-like engines she had worked with were used in one of the factories for ventilation in a hazardous fumes area. Most people who worked at the factory used that area, a tunnel that tended to collect said fumes from the areas beneath it, as a quick way to cool off. Aylah hated the tunnel, but had fun working on the system itself. Figuring out how to install the thing had been a nightmare. Even in a factory, doors and windows were only so big.

*****

"Johnston, what is--" Gray Anderson started talking the moment Jonah and Johnston returned to the tavern. He was glaring at Jonah.

"Not now, Gray," Johnston said, heading for the map. "Jonah, what do you think?"

"My boys will work in two teams of four. We've got good CBs that will go out over several miles, more depending on the weather conditions and time of day. Whoever else goes--if anyone else goes--best be heavily armed." Jonah scanned the map. "We know Denver is gone. That way can wait. Topeka to the east, Wichita to the South, and the North Road are the best bets. We'll head North and South, first. Two cars in each direction, each with plenty of ammo and more than plenty of gas."

"Will you need supplies? Town can provide them, up to a point," Johnston added, falling into the rhythm of Jonah's plan. "We really should send to Topeka at the same time. State capitol is not a place that should be so easily ignored. Besides, if state government is functioning, they may have resources to send our way."

"True. And that route is probably safer. Let a volunteer go that way. Someone from town." In Jonah-speak, that meant not one of his men, but some sucker from the town who had more balls than sense.

"I'll ask for volunteers as soon as we finish getting this planned out." Johnston shook his head. "I don't like it. Two cars? Even heavily armed, that's only two to a car and one back here to man the radio." Previous experience warred with the necessity of getting information as soon as it was possible.

"And me, here. I'll be looking over what's at the shop with Aylah." Jonah wasn't being difficult, if you asked him. He was pointing out something that the mayor should have remembered: Jonah was not a force to take lightly, even at this age.

"Seems to be a smart girl." Johnston glanced at the slightly younger man. "How did she get mixed up with you?"

"Destiny is a strange thing, Johnston."

Gray rolled his eyes dramatically and said loudly, "Okay, if you are done deciding what the people of Jericho need to hear, perhaps you'll fill us in?"

Johnston clenched his jaw, something his beard hid well, and fought his own temper. "We're trying to decide a safe distance from town, how many should be in each car, what kind of men should go. You think Titus Clarind would like to go, seein' as he's so old he probably doesn't have much time left anyway?" Several people snickered as Gray missed the sarcasm.

"Of course not, Johnston, but we should send someone to Denver, and someone to Topeka. Why not put one car in each direction, with the pair of Jonah's men?" It was a sensible question, to Gray. To Jonah and Johnston it made it clear that Gray had never been in a situation that was inherently uncertain. Or dangerous.

"And when, not if, my men see trouble? What then? Two days out? Tired? No way. I won't send them to get killed just because you want to be the big man, Anderson." Jonah looked back at the map. His next comment was to Johnston. "No more than 12 hours out of town or 24 there and back. If the highway is fairly clear, I'll get them to do a check of some back roads. If we can establish some sort of contact with a few of the towns nearby…"

"Good point. Keep them in this area," Johnston indicated an area around Jericho with about 150 miles from the town on each side, "and we'll be within calling range and have a decent response time. Outside of that, it'd take too long to get out there. If we can keep good intel for this area, we'll have a good picture about what's happening outside of that as well. You'll need rations for five meals, just in case, enough gas to cover the area--first aid kit."

"We have ammo, food, gas. The first aid kit would be good--make it a comprehensive one. Don't know who or what is on those roads right now."

"You mean you haven't been raiding them?" Gray sniped.

"Are you sure I can't just deck him?" Jonah asked Johnston.

"Not yet," Johnston replied. He glanced over at the taller man with the indignant, almost petulant expression. "Maybe later." He muttered something under his breath that Jonah couldn't quite hear. Hearing the larger man draw another preparatory breath, Johnston turned and forestalled whatever Gray was going to say. "You know, Gray, we could use volunteers to cover east and west. Town'll supply reliable transport, gas, food--the works. Think you could round up a couple volunteers? Men, preferably, without families."

"Of course. I'll take east, Topeka-way. Give me a bit and I'll find someone to take west." With that, Gray disappeared into the crowd, looking for his old friends and anyone who would listen to him instead of Green.

"Smooth, old man," Jonah said, a twitch in his cheek indicating a smile.

"If it keeps him busy and out of my way…" Johnston shrugged. "Now, this med kit you want. What are you anticipating out there?"

"Fighting, associated wounds--mostly gunshot." Jonah shook his head. "It's not going to be pretty out there, Johnston."

"I know." He walked around the table to stand next to Jonah. "Here, let's figure out the best routes for getting the most information with the least gas. Now, if you take Highway 70…"

*****

"Okay, Jake. This one's ready to fire up." Aylah yelled as she moved out of the way and watched as Jake flipped a few switches and did other routine things in the cockpit. She turned and headed for the small tower as Jake stood and went to secure the entrance.

He thought about the little bit of information he'd managed to get out of her. It wasn't much. Apparently, she'd been raised by a foster family after she'd run away from home. She said it was too rough there, and apparently Kansas Social Services agreed with her. He hadn't managed to get anything out of her about her relationship with Jonah, or about where she was staying here in town. Either way, it didn't matter now. He was in the plane and going through the preflight basics. He had an older camera that dealt solely on high-speed film, a plane to fly, and a mission to complete.

Another switch snicked into the correct position. A pull, a push, and the engines started with a roar. In moments, the propeller started to spin at speed. In less than a minute, he was working his way to the landing strip and running up to full speed. It felt so good to be back inside the cockpit again.

Aylah watched as the plane taxied to the strip. The little bit of work she had had to do was simple. There was no power, so she had grabbed a large battery, roughly half again the size of a standard car battery, and used it to feed power into what she was certain was the radio panel. Static hissed from the speaker to her left, an archaic thing with little to recommend it other than the fact that it worked reliably. Then came a voice.

"Jericho tower, this is civilian aircraft Cessna-206H, do you copy?" Jake felt like an idiot. He didn't have a flight number and he hadn't looked closely at the number painted on the plane. He figured Aylah wouldn't know the difference. In this case, he was right.

"I hear you, Jake." She paused. "I know it'll violate protocol, but can I just call you by name instead of whatever letters and numbers you manage to come up with? Or do you have some sort of piloty nickname? You guys do that, right?"

Shaking his head, something he knew she couldn't see, Jake laughed. Then he replied. "Roger that, tower. My call sign is Good Hands."

Aylah snorted. "You sure this isn't an insurance commercial?" she asked. "Or is it an advertisement of a different kind?"

"Long story. Remind me to tell it to you after this."

"Fine." She waited a beat and watched as Jake pulled the small plane into the air. "Good Hands, call me Silence."

The wait for his reply was almost too long. "Roger that Silence. I am heading up to 1,000 feet and will circle the town inside the perimeter."

Aylah looked at the boards in front of her and sighed. There was enough juice in the battery she snagged to run the radio with a jerry-rigged circuit, but she couldn't turn on the rest of the tower--even if she knew what all of the different switches and lights were for. "Roger that, Good Hands." Radio etiquette from Jonah was helping her here. "Keep it short. You've got about thirty minutes before the light gets bad and maybe an hour before the sun sets. I want you on the ground by then."

"I hear you, Silence." He paused. Maybe, if anyone were listening, they'd just think he was crazy. "Banking left." It was a matter of moments to push the pedals and stick into a smooth climbing turn that took him over the townside edges of the Clarind and Lane farms. He raised his eyes and looked further out. For several long moments, he forgot how to breathe.

Without saying a word, he raised the camera, pointed the lens at the ground, and clicked the shutter.

He knew it was bad, but he'd never imagined this.

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	5. The Days After: 3, cont 4

**Timestamp: **Bombs + 3 (still)

**Warnings:** A little violence, memories of abuse, and maybe some other things that make this a particularly brutal little chapter. If you're the squicky sort, bail out now, because these next few chapters are the lowest setting on the intense subject matter meter.

**A/N:** Originally, this fic was posted on Jerichofanfiction, but I'm editing and reposting here. Serious edits and clarifications begin with this chappy, including smushing 2 or more chapters into one, which changes the total count. Chapters were originally shorter in order to fit comfortably on previous site's formatting. Now, they're going to get longer, like I like them. :-) Cheers, and happy reading!

**Disclaimer: **If I owned them, I'd be getting paid for this. I'm don't and I'm not.

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Jonah sighed and stretched. He'd finished planning with Johnston. Various people were preparing the kits for the men who were going. Turned out Shep Cale volunteered to head for Denver, see what could be seen. Gray, the self-righteous, pompous ass, was heading for Topeka. Jonah's men liked the short convoy idea and were prepping their ammo and driving shifts. Jonah and Stevie were staying to man the radio at the transport office. Johnston wanted them to take some smaller units for reports back to the sheriff's station, but the CB was much more reliable over distance. Especially since these were the illegally tweaked and thus stronger units.

In about ten minutes, he was going to go looking for Aylah if the girl didn't show up soon--_What the hell?_

Shouting and the sounds of a fight were coming through his office door. He half-jogged to the door to see what was going on. As soon as he saw the smaller combatant grab for the most convenient tool, a claw hammer, he ran out of the door and sprinted to them.

His arms went around Aylah just as she was about to put the claw end of the hammer through Mitchell Cafferty's temple. Jonah's man was already swaying on his feet, bruises coming on his jaw and forehead.

"Easy, girl," he barked, then soothed, "easy. No one needs to die tonight." She was struggling and he had to tighten his grip and lift her, turning her physically away from the object of her rage. He walked her toward the door to his office and living quarters. "What happened." It was not a question.

"He touched me," she growled, her voice still choked with emotion. Jonah heard more than rage. "No one touches me!"

"And you made your point clear. No!" he snapped, jerking her up off the ground again as she nearly got loose. "No. Go inside. Wait for me. I'll take care of it from here." She showed no sign of listening. "Aylah," he warned, "do not make me knock you out." After that warning, she stopped struggling to get loose, but her breathing stayed too fast. "If I let you go, you'll go inside, right?" This time, his voice was soft, almost a whisper in her ear. For her only. He was leaning down, lips brushing her ear. She nodded. "Good girl. Now," he moved his arms from around her and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, feeling her tense again as he did, and said, "Inside. Wait for me."

Aylah didn't argue. She'd nearly killed a man for touching her. One of Jonah's men. Her rage had come back with that touch. Now he'd have to explain to them that she was off-limits, maybe that she was his woman. And that would change things between them. She'd come so close to losing control--and she hated that. She walked into Jonah's office, then out the other door and down the hall to his apartment. When the door shut behind her, she walked to his bathroom and began stripping. Maybe a shower would help.

*****

Jonah told Stevie to get some ice, which he did, and then found out exactly what had happened from his men. Noah, the oldest of them, gave a quick and concise report.

"Girl came in, askin' to see you. Mitch here talked to her, then, after saying you were in your office, patted her on the ass as she walked by. Never saw anything happen that fast. One second, she was walking to the office, next, she had her hand buried in Mitch's gut and he was bug-eyed with surprise. She hit hard--Mitch's prob'ly got some bruises from that. Then she hit him again. He swatted at her, but she pulled something out of her pocket and punched him in the ribs. Then she smacked him between the eyes with her fist--"

"Brass knuckles," Leon, the one with long, dark hair said suddenly. "Girl carries brass knuckles in her pocket."

"--and then he's reelin' back and she's grabbin' at the hammer and movin' for the kill. Never seen nothin' like it, Jonah. Hellcat, that one is. Pure she-devil." Noah's eyes were wide. That much violence packed into that nicely built little package? He'd never have believed it.

"Damn." Jonah motioned to Leon and D'Shea. "Get him to the med center in town. Don't bother explaining anything, just make it clear you're coming from here. For the rest of you--she's off limits. Completely. Don't touch her, don't sneak up behind her, and if you want to live, don't ever corner her."

"You touched her," this from Leon, who found Aylah more than a bit interesting. He liked wild women.

"She's mine." Two words and a world of warning. He hoped that would be enough.

Leon laughed. "She know that, Boss?" The rest of the men chuckled, thinking of Aylah's violence and Jonah's temper. Some of them started betting how long it would take before she kneed Jonah or worse, and they weren't whispering.

"You wanna ask her yourself? You wanna see how she reacts to a surprise in the shower? Be my guest." Jonah paused. "Where do you want to be buried, Leon?"

The chuckles died. And Jonah unbent enough to explain a few things--a cardinal sin in his odd world of shades of black.

"She was abused, badly abused, as a kid. Nearly died on the side of the road. I picked her up, took her to the hospital." The men nodded. They knew the code, since each of them had done time. None of them had gone after a woman or a kid--they were real criminals, not cowards. "She found me when I went through town again," a gloss, but accurate enough for them. "Said she wanted some company." The knowing smirk seemed so right, so he added that in. "Would you have walked away?"

The guys were quiet for a moment, the sound of a car engine revving the only thing that broke the silence. Stevie drove around the corner. "Get Mitchell to the doctor. If he's well enough, he can go tomorrow. It'd be safer for him than crossing Aylah again anytime soon."

"You can't control your woman?" D'Shea asked, incredulous.

"It's Mitch. Hell, how many of you have thought about killing him this year?" Nods around the circle meant he had their attention. Now to seal the deal. "And he doesn't go around patting any of you on the ass, does he?"

"Hell, he tries it and I'll break his neck," Noah snorted. "Boss?"

"Yeah, Noah?"

"What's she good for, other than the obvious?"

"One of the best damned mechanics I've ever met--can probably run the machine tools better than you, Noah." With that, Jonah watched them load Mitch into the car. Noah went with Stevie and Mitch to town, which was good. It'd been so long since Noah had been welcome in any town that he wouldn't let Mitch's hot head or Stevie's general stupidity get them kicked out.

Now, for his real problem.

*****

Aylah wrapped the towel around her and stepped out of the shower, expecting company. She was right. Jonah leaning against his dresser, waiting for her to finish her shower.

"'Bout time," he said, watching her smooth her hair away from her face. She had long, beautiful hair, down to her hips. Most people thought she was old fashioned or showing off, but Jonah knew the real reason.

"They think I'm your woman now, don't they?" she asked, knowing how these men thought. She hated it, but there it was. She'd caused it, now she'd have to pay the price.

"Is that a problem for you?" He implied it was no big deal to him, but she knew better. Even though they'd been together before, they were never lovers, not in the way people thought of lovers.

She lowered her head and closed her eyes. "No," she whispered, "I just hate it."

"Knocking the hell out of Mitchell would've been enough. Trying to kill him?" Damn, Jonah hurt. Containing her rages had never been easy, but the last time she'd done something like this was over ten years ago. Ten years could make a difference in too many ways, and Jonah was more than willing to hate that fact.

"I hate him!" she hissed, her head snapping up and her eyes filling with fire. "I knew him before I left--and I hated him then, too! If he crosses me, Jonah…"

"You do whatever you have to do." This was a rant he didn't want to hear. "Meanwhile, the boys'll be listening for certain things tonight. Think you're up to it?" He wasn't asking for sex, or demanding it. In fact, he was too damned tired.

Humour gleamed in Aylah's eyes as she walked to Jonah's bed, her rage forgotten as she saw the lack of desire on his face. As she sat down on the side, it creaked. Her glance at him was accompanied by a wicked grin. "How good do you want to be, Big J?" she purred at him.

He simply raised an eyebrow and waited, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She didn't disappoint. Within seconds she was rocking back and forth, then lifting up onto her feet and bouncing on the bed. Not long after that, she added a few loud moans and a short scream.

Jonah was choking on his laughter, and when she screamed, crossing her eyes at him in mock ecstasy, he couldn't help the shout of laughter that escaped him. Aylah bounced heavily for another two or thee seconds and then smirked up at Jonah, who was doing his best to remain upright after her performance.

"Was it good for you?" she simpered.

Jonah shook his head and crossed over to sit next to her on his bed. "You do realize that they're listening, don't you?"

Aylah shrugged. "So long as they don't try, I'll be fine." She stood and turned the bed down, the towel now too damp for comfort.

Jonah moved and headed for the shower. The hot water would feel wonderful.

"Of course, I'll sleep in here, until we have an argument," she added as he walked toward his private bathroom.

"You'll sleep in here every night." He looked back at her over his shoulder. "Only so far, Aylah, no farther."

Aylah hesitated. "Get your shower, Jonah. I'll get in bed while you do."

"Aylah." His voice was even less tolerant of her desire to dodge the necessity of staying with him for an extended time.

"Fine, Jonah. Every night. Now would you please…" She turned away from him, her voice choking to a weak thread. He'd seen it all, heard it all, watched her as she nearly went insane, brought her back from the edge--and she still didn't want him to see her cry.

Soft footsteps padded closer to her. "Hey," he murmured in her ear, lifting one hand to turn her toward him, the other to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "No secrets, Aylah. Only truth. I don't want you hurt, and I don't want to have to kill one of them for doing something stupid."

"I know, Jonah. It's just…" He waited as she stepped into him. She was getting grease on his good towel, but he didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around her and held her. "If I stay in here every night, and we don't…they'll figure it out. And you know that I don't like to…to…"

"I know." He pulled her head onto his shoulder and stroked her soaking wet hair. "How long?"

"I don't--" She tried to dodge, not wanting to say it.

"How long?" More insistent.

"Nine years." Her voice broke on the last word and she finally let loose the sobs she'd been fighting.

"That's far too long, sweetheart. Why?" Damn. He hoped she wasn't going brittle on him. She was strong, but her strength came from her ability to face her fears. If she'd been hiding from this, if anything went bad, would she break? He'd worked too long and too hard with her to let that happen.

"No one wants a woman that looks like I do. And if they do, it's not for anything good. I can't stand the one-nights that I pulled for so long and you…we…" Her words were broken, then confused because she never could figure out what, exactly, her relationship with Jonah was. She wasn't one of his boys. She wasn't his daughter or replacement daughter, his lover, his wife, his woman, his burden, or his friend. They were something strange that defied description, but it was real and binding and she cared so much about him. But it wasn't love. Or romance.

"Don't love each other." He whispered, finishing her thought. "I know." He cared for her, admired her, but she wasn't Sylvia. She was so much more--and less. Whatever she was, he was able with her, but he didn't love her.

"I don't think I _can _love. Not like that." She lifted her head and looked Jonah in the eyes. "I don't want to. It means giving up too much control." She had already regained control over her crying fit, even if her face was blotchy and her eyes wanted to overflow.

Jonah said nothing to that. He saw that the tears were over for now. Instead of brushing them from her cheeks again, or telling her to go put cold water on her face, he reached down and tugged the towel from her.

Aylah stood still, her arms at her sides as Jonah stepped back to see her. His eyes slid down her body, then back up. The look wasn't fast or slow, but she knew he marked every change in her since the last time he saw her like this. She shivered from the cool air on her damp skin.

"Turn." That was all he said. He didn't have to say more. She turned her back to him, and stepped to the wall. She placed her hands on the wall and slid her feet apart. Waited. He moved her hair, still heavy with water after it had been towelled off, over one shoulder and stepped back again.

"They're almost gone," he said, looking at what was left of the heavy scarring on her back. The welts were invisible now, would only be seen if she decided to get a tan. The thicker, ropy scars were smaller and had faded to a shade lighter than her own skin. Scars continued down her back, over her buttocks, down her legs to the calf. "Do you still stretch out?"

"Every day, or my legs won't move right." She didn't stop to think how most people would see this scene. They would be upset or humiliated. This was just Jonah, checking on her. She felt his fingers tracing, the pressing on one of the scars that gave her the most trouble on her back. "Mm. Feels good." It did. There was always a string of knots along that line, and Jonah had magic hands.

"Later," he said absently. "Aylah…I have to check."

This time, Aylah did feel heat flooding her. Embarrassment and shame swept through her like a tornado. "No…not this time."

But Jonah ignored her and slid his hand between her thighs. He carefully felt the inside of her thighs, right and left. "Good," he said, the quick check over. "No new scars."

"Jonah I told you--I quit doing that after you found out and freaked out on me." Her voice was weak, small.

"I did not freak out," he insisted. "There was no damn reason for you to go cutting yourself and adding more scars to the ones he gave you. You're too beautiful for that."

Aylah turned to face him, propping her bare back against the cold concrete wall. "Me? Beautiful?" Her laugh was bitter. "Don't lie to me, Jonah. We never have lied to each other, so don't start now."

"You know me. Strength, will--those are beautiful. And I have never met a more stubborn, willful, strong woman in my life. These scars--they're the proof that you've survived a hell most people couldn't even dream existed. And you came out whole." A long road was ahead of them if he had to keep reminding her of this. Could he do it again?

"Not undamaged, though." A soft whisper, and her head drooped lower between her shoulders.

"No, not undamaged," he agreed. "But beautiful." Jonah cupped her face in his hands, lifting her chin, and kissed her lips carefully. When he drew back, she was smiling up at him. It wasn't much of a smile, but the corners of her lips were turned up a tiny bit. That counted, didn't it?

"You could talk a copperhead out of striking, Big J." Her voice was stronger now, but still a shadow of her usual tones.

"Only if he gave me enough time," Jonah agreed, smiling back at her.

"Go get your shower. You've more than earned it today. I'll be in bed." She continued smiling at him as he turned and walked to the shower. He'd feel better after his shower; he always did. And if they were going to convince his men that she really was his woman, she'd have to let him make her his woman, otherwise they'd notice that her hips never swayed and her stride never loosened like most women's did after a good night with their man. She slid into the bed, away from the door or Jonah would complain, and considered would have to happen.

And for all she cared about him, she hated sex. Hated having to relearn how to lose control of herself. Hated the full of calloused hands on her scarred skin, of lips wet and open on hers.

But this was Jonah, and it wasn't so bad with him. Maybe they could make it work out well enough that the men didn't question it. But that would take time, and until that day came…it would cost her. Worse, it would cost Jonah, because he really didn't feel that way about her, either. She decided she wouldn't wait for him to try to break the news to her gently. She'd start it.

Was it wrong to hope he'd finish too quick?

*****

Jonah turned his face into the water, letting the warmth wash over him. Damn, but he hurt. No matter how much he hated to admit it, Aylah had been right. He was slowing down. Ten years ago, holding her back wasn't such a big deal. Hell, seventeen years ago, he'd been handing her the hammer. But that was a different circumstance.

Now she was here. On his property. In his bed. And she'd be here for the foreseeable future. That meant the men had to think she was his, and they mostly did. That'd keep most of them from thinking of challenging him anytime soon. They'd have to take her, too, and she was downright vicious. He knew what she was capable of--he'd seen things equal to it in Vietnam--but he knew the men who followed him couldn't hold her. She'd take over, and without someone to check some of her less gentle notions, well, that could go very badly.

And what was this--nine years? He'd told her repeatedly not to go more than six months without a man. He sighed and reached for the soap. They'd kept to phone calls over the last several years, but before that, he saw her regularly. They'd have dinner together or just a cup of coffee. Maybe he should've been there more for her, but Sylvia had let him back into her life and her bed about that time and…Sylvie.

His wife was gone now. So was Chris. Emily was here, but didn't want to admit he was her father. The only person that gave a damn about him anymore was out there, dreading the moment he told her that they had to create the fiction of being together so well that no one could deny it--and that meant enduring what she hated. And he didn't want to, either, but without the sexual component to back up the information he'd been required to give them, he wouldn't keep control of them. And then she'd have no one to keep her grounded. Maybe Johnston could handle it, given 23 hours a day to deal with her, and that wasn't going to happen. Jake? Jake was too wounded right now. It was in his eyes, and anyone who knew the boy well could see it. Oh, he'd gotten tougher. Changed. Learned regret. But he still wasn't what Aylah needed--someone as tough or tougher than she was.

He could make her enjoy the sex. He knew that as well as she did. She'd turned to him years ago, scared--hell, terrified--and brave and determined. It had still taken over a year before she could manage to let him into her bed, the first man she'd ever wanted to touch her. The first man to touch her intimately that she hadn't feared or been hurt by. The look in her eyes when she realized she'd managed to go to bed with him without panicking and she had actually trusted him enough to let go and enjoy it had been priceless. He'd never seen that dazed look in those grey eyes again, and he'd tried his best to put it there.

She'd been abused every way there was when he'd found her, more than half dead on the side of the road. He'd broken every traffic law known to man getting her to the ICU in Rogue River. She'd been barely thirteen then. He'd broken more serious laws when he went and beat the ever-living daylight out of her weasel of a stepfather. She didn't know about that part. He'd never told her. Then again, she'd never asked, either.

Then, when she was sixteen and so filled with rage that she was fighting everything and everyone, he'd finished all ties to decency by kidnapping the bastard and bringing him to her, bound and gagged. He'd watched as she spent her rage on the one who deserved it. Handed her the hammer, the blowtorch. The knife. Held her after she'd finally killed him, when she'd been driving the knife into the corpse over and over. If he hadn't stopped her, pinning her arms like he had today, she'd've kept on until she couldn't lift her arms. It was only then that she realized everything she'd done. She raged and cried on his shoulder, sometimes beating his chest and shoulders with her fists, covered in blood and screaming out what was left of her pain, severing her own ties to humanity.

As far as everyone was concerned, her stepfather had simply disappeared. Her mother had moved to Denver the year before, no reason given. There'd been an investigation, of course, but the body would never be found. Jonah seen to that. Aylah's stepfather had had enough ties to dirty judges and corrupt state officials that he'd never have been subject to real justice--that as much as anything had been gnawing on Aylah. She'd been cutting herself, hidden slices on her thighs, but he always checked the scars for her. She always asked him to, begged him to be honest--and he'd seen a cut. When she'd raged and screamed her reasons to him, then picked up a ceramic mug and shattered it, bringing a jagged edge to her leg and pressing, he realized how far down the path she'd gone. Suicide was one of her options, and she admitted it. To save her, he'd given her the kind of rough justice she said she needed. Then, he'd had to pull her back from the edge.

She'd started healing then. She'd been so determined to be ordinary after torturing a man do death. No, not a man. A monster.

Why wouldn't she believe she was extraordinary? Even now, she'd deny it, turn away. She'd survived years of abuse, including various forms of sexual abuse from the time she was ten, and managed to come out of it and still care for someone, something. But not herself.

Then she'd turned to him, covered in her stepfather's blood, tear tracks on her face. When she'd calmed down, she asked him to teach her not to fear. What else could he do? He'd been teaching her to stand up for herself, to fight. He'd already shown her she could kill. It was during these years that he'd been running with some of the worst. He knew what could happen, and he wanted to teach her to survive it. Sylvie had made it impossible for him to teach Emily or Chris. Shortly after this, Jake had crossed his path, bringing Emily with him. He'd seen potential in Jake, the future of his gang, but he couldn't teach Emily more than the basics. She didn't need to know the darkness to survive. Aylah did. It was Aylah who'd gotten his spare time. Maybe that was his biggest mistake with Emily--not telling her why he'd been gone so much. Well, that and Chris, but Chris's death _was_ his fault, and he knew Emily was right to blame him for it.

But Aylah--he'd done right there. She'd turned to him, trusted him completely. And still, it had taken a year of patience and gentle touches, slow progress before she'd finally been able to be with him. She'd been seventeen then, and he was old enough to be her father. After everything, she'd trusted him enough to choose him. Hell, he hadn't trusted himself most days back then, but she'd do anything for him, just because he asked her to. He should feel guilty, but all he could feel, then as now, was honored. It was a strange feeling for him. Felt good, though. He didn't want to lose that.

Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to regret Aylah.

Did she regret him? It was a disturbing question, and one he would have to get an answer to. But not tonight. The answer might just be too much for tonight. Jonah Prowse was a survivor, even after the attacks, but the way to survive wasn't to push this mood any further. He didn't dare.

Instead, he turned off the water and pulled his towel from the bar by the wall. After drying off, he decided there was no point in pulling on boxers or a t-shirt. She hated the feeling of clothes against her skin as she slept, something they'd had in common, but for different reasons. He didn't like the constriction. She didn't like the memory of pulling cloth from where it had dried into open, seeping wounds during the night.

Jonah walked over to the bed and slid under the covers on the side of the bed next to the door. He always took the side with the door. Always. Now all he had to do was figure out how to tell her he needed her tonight.

It would be easier to tell Johnston he was sorry for all the trouble he'd caused.

*****

Aylah smiled to herself as she felt the bed dip with Jonah's weight. She turned over and snuggled into him, wrapping her arms around him. Once she'd made her decision, the rest was easy. Well, easier. This would never be easy, even if it became ordinary.

"What's this?" he asked, surprised.

Aylah lifted up over him, smiling. "It occurred to me that I don't walk right, not for what we faked earlier. Only one way to fix that, Big J, if you want?"

A question. Always a question. She never demanded this from him--or anyone. He'd watched her one night at a bar in Rogue River, when she did work the bars. She simply offered, they accepted or refused--mostly accepted. He smiled into the darkness. He did, too. "Here I was trying to figure out how to tell you that. When'd you get so smart?"

"Mm…when you weren't looking?" she teased.

"Next question: When'd you get to be such a smart-ass?" This accompanied a long caress down her sides, pulling her closer.

"Mm…when you were?" A whisper, still light, but husky with emotions neither one wanted to consider. Then she laughed. "I'm seducing you again, Jonah." Was this seduction? Did it matter? The outcome was the same.

Jonah laughed with her and pulled her close before he rolled her onto her back. "I'm willing to be seduced," he murmured into her ear as he felt her force herself to relax under his weight. "Are you?" Her reply was lost in a gasp as his hands and lips found places that had been ignored for far too long.

For the first time in a long, long time, Aylah arched into a man's touch, trusting him completely with herself.

She could never regret Jonah, even if her logic told her she should. Her heart and soul refused.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	6. The Days After: 4

Timestamp: Bombs + 4

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Aylah woke alone. She winced as she lifted and turned to check the time on her watch. Nine fifteen. A quick check of Jonah's side of the bed revealed that he'd been up for a while, long enough for the heat to fade from his pillow and sheets. Carefully, she levered herself into a sitting position. The cool air across her back made her shiver, but her hair soon covered the exposed skin. She looked at her arms. Round scars dotted from her shoulders down to her wrists between the longer scars and long-faded welts from the many beatings she had endured, showing where her stepfather had used her to put out his cigarettes.

She wasn't going anywhere today. As it was, she had to move carefully to stretch out. Jonah had been careful with her, and once he'd started, she'd been surprisingly more willing than she'd thought, but it had still been too long and she felt every underused muscle and overstretched tendon protesting her unexpected enthusiasm. It took her more than five minutes to stretch out enough to stand and move to the shower. The heat would finish loosening her up enough to finish her morning routine. She'd get dressed in her jeans and one of Jonah's long-sleeved shirts.

And then she'd have to go get breakfast. It was too much to hope the men had already gone to town to pick up the last of the supplies, the town radios, routes they needed to check, and the information Jake had gathered yesterday. With her luck, they'd just be sitting down to eat, too.

So long as they left her alone, she'd manage. Better yet, she'd lock herself in the garage and shop, take inventory, and look over the manuals and references she had available. Did Jonah still have her textbooks? Even though they were several years old, they were still good. Mechanics hadn't really changed, even though some of the information in the electric engineering texts was outdated now. Between inventory and looking over what Jonah had for an in-house library, she could keep occupied for at least three days.

Maybe she could manage to avoid even Jonah, if she played it right.

When she finally left Jonah's room, she was moving easily, hips swaying and her gait loose as only a well-pleased woman's could be on the morning after.

Stevie saw that walk and decided he'd have to tell Mitchell that no, Jonah wasn't kidding about Aylah being his woman. But Mitchell probably wouldn't listen. He'd tell Noah, too.

*****

Jonah lead the way into town. He'd left Aylah sleeping, knowing she'd want time alone. He rode alone, Noah and Mitchell in the next car; Leon and Billy bringing up the rear. Turned out Mitch had a mild concussion, two cracked ribs, and some deep bruises. He'd been paired with Noah to keep him from doing something incredibly stupid, like planning revenge. Noah was good about keeping Mitch calmed down, but the boy was getting too hungry for power. Chances were, he'd have to do something permanent soon.

In the conference room, Johnston had had his secretary, Jake, and a volunteer, Heather Lisinski, putting up the information from the photos Jake had snapped. The high school photography teacher, Mr. Kenneth Blane, had taken the time to develop the rolls of film that night. Then the three had stayed up with Johnston to interpret the images--until Gail had come in and threatened Johnston with various humiliations if he didn't get home to bed. Finally, three hours after Johnston had gone home, the others finished their notes and decided to camp out in the shelter downstairs. That had been near dawn. If Eric hadn't remembered that he and Jake had sometimes stayed there all night as kids, Johnston would've called out a search party to find them that morning. As it was, they'd just finished recording and posting the information when Jonah and his 'volunteers' came in.

"Jonah," Johnston said, nodding to the man in the lead. "Boys," he said, acknowledging the others.

"Johnston," Jonah returned the greeting, almost friendly. Behind him his men nodded and muttered, "Mayor Green" by way of greeting. One of them added, "Who's the fox?" It was Leon. Jonah stifled the impulse to strangle the boy--he thought with the head below his belt far, far too often.

Heather's eyes grew wide at that comment and she looked at Jake, who was standing next to her by the photo-map they'd laid out. He just shook his head at her to stop the question that was written all over her face, and said aloud to Leon, "She's spoken for. Find your own."

"Jake Green," came a hoarse, hateful voice. The sound made Jake tense.

"Mitchell," he returned, calm and cool. Jake wouldn't start it, but he'd finish it, and to hell with the truce.

"Easy, Mitch," Jonah cautioned, not even turning. Then, addressing Johnston again, "Nice spread. Get enough information to make it worthwhile?"

"Actually, not quite," Heather said before Johnston could reply, gathering a sour look from the man she preempted. "We have information for the visible areas, but," she used the magical teacher's reach to rapidly and clearly indicate three areas that were too heavily forested to get good information, "there are some areas where we can only use best guess. Most of that is on the back roads, but here and here, both on I-70, there are some places that could be used to conceal several standard trucks, if not larger vehicles."

"Like Humvees?" That from Noah, a voice of reason--he really wanted to be able to come to town whenever he liked. He was getting too damned old for finding a new place every three or four years.

"More like semis, military transport vehicles, and small tanks," she said. "But, there are six abandoned gas stations on each road, and it's reasonable to figure that most of the pumps require electricity, so if you have to get more fuel, taking a hand pump and a length of garden hose would be a good idea."

"I doubt that will be necessary, Heather, but thank you for the extra information," Johnston said, drawing the attention back to the routes he had mapped out. "The two car groups will be heading north and south, with a more comprehensive sweep of the roads. Gray Anderson and Shep Cale are preparing to take east and west, but as straight-shots, without detours. Now, if you can manage to cover these areas…"

Jake glanced over at her and murmured as Johnston took over the conversation from there, continuing with details as they stepped away from the photographs. "Stripping wires, rebuilding ventilators, and now how to siphon gas. Is there anything you don't know about?"

"How to make a good martini," she said, grinning up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "And I'm absolutely awful at poker."

Jake grinned. "I'll have to remember that," the wicked spark in his eyes making hers widen even more. He watched as she blushed and looked away. For someone he'd met on a bus filled with second-graders--not the recommended singles' meeting place--she'd certainly captured his attention. But…why? He liked wild blondes more than tame brunettes like Heather. Jake Green and an elementary teacher? He was just wishing. There was no way she'd be interested in him, anyway. He was too much of a screw-up. Even if she was interested, she wouldn't be after she got to know more about him.

He turned back to the conversation between Jonah and Johnston. There was something about the way they were talking that nagged at him. He couldn't quite figure it out, though.

After about two hours of hashing out the exact assignments, supplies they'd have--which now included hand pumps and some cut lengths of garden hose, thanks to Heather's suggestion and Jonah's practicality--the men turned to the photograph map.

While Johnston and Jonah briefed the boys about exact information they'd need, Heather and Jake had created an overlay using plastic wrap and dry-erase markers that Heather had scavenged from the whiteboard in the sheriff's office. She had marked south in green while Jake had worked on tracing the routes for the north in blue. They'd used simple black for the straight-lines Shep and Gray had claimed. Things they'd like to know, but weren't critical were marked in brown, and critical information points were marked in red. Heather knew how to organize. If she hadn't, she'd be insane within a week of dealing with the kids in her classes.

Jonah had to stifle a laugh as he saw the return route to town for the southern group, down Oates Street and culminating at Oates and Main, terminated in a green smiley face with curly hair and dimples. Heather waited while Jake flagged the potential trouble spots on the north side, then piped in with the problems she saw with the south side.

"Oh, and be really careful here," she said indicating a dirt road she used as a shortcut to Hayes for cheaper supplies for her science lessons. "This road is only half paved, and when it asphalt ends, there's usually a washed-out section. Avoid going over about thirty-five through here," she pointed to a spot about halfway down the photograph.

"How bad?" D'Shea asked. He hadn't travelled that way in a long time. Actually, he couldn't remember that road. Hank and Tyler, were shaking their heads, muttering and asking each other if he knew that section of old back road.

"Well, if you're lucky, you'll just have a flat. If you're not, you'll end up knocking the engine from the mount, snap an axle, and end up with two flats. If you take that section over about 35, you'll end up with all of the above, some nasty body damage, and probably flip the car. In that case, I hope you wear seat belts, 'cause otherwise you'll be in a world of hurt." Her almost perky tone, accompanied with the authoritative way she spoke about damages to their cars and them, made the four men blink.

"So why do we want this information?" Jonah asked, amused by the way her obvious nervousness had faded while she spoke to them. What was it about her that reminded him of Aylah? Rather, what Aylah could have been, given different circumstances.

"Because that route takes about forty-five minutes off the drive to Hayes, and practically no one ever uses it anymore." She paused. "And given the gas mileage I get, it's worth it."

"Well, if that's all you need from here, we'll load you all out and let you get started," Johnston said, interrupting Heather's tendency to add in too much information.

Jonah looked at his boys. "Anything else? No? Then let's get this done." The men started for the door, snagging their backpacks on the way. When the last one was out the door, Jonah turned to the mayor. "Johnston, the pumps and hoses?"

"I'll get them," Heather piped up. Johnston almost growled when he glared at her this time. "What? We keep them at the school. I found the pumps while I was rearranging the science supplies and separating out the outdated shop tools."

Jake just shook his head. He didn't want her to keep talking any more than Johnston did. "I'll go with her, Dad," he said. With that he took her arm and started taking her out of the room.

"But what about the--" she protested, pulling back a bit.

"Dad will handle it. They've got a few more details to iron out and we can pick up the hoses from the gardening store on the way." Since Jake was making sense, it was hard for Heather to argue. It was difficult to argue while being forced to hobble on a walking-cast down a slick hallway when wearing a slippery, leather soled wedge to match height with the casted foot. Otherwise, she'd have protested all the way, and loudly. As it was, her arguments about supplies and the groups leaving took a quick second to a different problem.

"Hold up, Jake!" the older men heard her yelp. "The cast!"

"Oh…sorry." Jake's voice, lower and louder than Heather's carried down the hall and through the door.

Jonah and Johnston looked at each other, and both started chuckling. It was hard not to like Heather Lisinski, no matter who you were.

"What frequency will you be using?" Johnston asked, wondering if Jonah would actually tell him.

"We'll be on 39. It carries well out here--and with a bit of tweaking, reaches a hell of a lot better than the others. And practically no one uses that frequency. It works out." Jonah figured if someone had the setup he had back at the shop, they were welcome to listen as long as they could.

"You've used that before, haven't you?" Johnston asked, his easy manner changing. Blue eyes glinted with ice. "Recently."

"Johnston, it's a free channel--public use." Jonah's words were calm, his voice low and easy. "If you want a fight, I'll give you one, but don't try to make something a crime when it's not."

Johnston started to say something, then stopped. "Ah, hell. It's been too long since we tried to get along, Jonah. Just keep it in the lines."

Jonah nodded. "I know." There was a peaceful, almost companionable silence that fell between them. Finally, Johnston picked up his coat.

"Time to see them off," he said, sliding into his coat.

"Gray and Shep leaving at the same time?"

"No, they're still gathering supplies. They expect to be gone for a few days, not the 24 hours that your guys are going out."

Jonah nodded and slid on his sunglasses, walking out beside Johnston. It was odd, the way they seemed to fall in together after so many years of being at odds. Then again, they were much the same. That had been the reason they'd been friends in school--raising a little hell here and there, just to keep from getting bored--and enemies after Jonah had come back from Lansing State Penitentiary. Johnston had walked the straight and narrow for his wife and kids and the U.S. Army.

After Jonah finished his time in the service, he'd headed for wilder places--and found Detroit. Not long after his arrival in Detroit, the law found him. He did a nickel in Lansing, met Sylvia the day he got out, and convinced her to come back to this tiny town with him. But he wasn't done with the wrong side of the law, and, after prison, had only become more familiar with it. This time, he wasn't just opposite the law, he was opposite an old friend, Johnston Green.

That was then. Now, between them and their different routes through life, maybe, just maybe, they could keep Jericho on its feet.

*****

Aylah sighed as she examined the haphazard way the men had organized their tools. What was it that made the Y chromosome immune to order? To logic? To planning ahead? To layout and design? Without bothering to ask, she began to rearranged the tools and equipment, keeping a running tally of supplies in her head.

*****

Jake and Heather returned to the street in front of Town Hall to give a hand-siphon and twenty feet of metal-less, lightweight garden hose to each group. Heather took her set to Noah, who seemed to be less inclined to unnecessary comments than the others. And these men made her little nervous. Jake walked his set to D'Shea. He didn't know these men--they were new in the last five years.

After a short conversation, mostly involving instructions and warnings about little things Jake remembered about some of the old roads, Jake and Heather returned to the steps of Town Hall. Jake helped her up the steps and stood next to her as the men climbed in the cars and started their engines. Heather sighed. Those were some well-tuned engines. There was nothing in the world like the wonderful sound of eight cylinders humming in perfect timing. She caught Jake's questioning look and just shook her head. He'd never want to talk to her if he found out she had a passion for fixing cars. Then again, he didn't seem to mind her less feminine traits. She changed the subject anyway.

"You want to go, don't you?" she asked, referring to the expression he wore as he watched the cars pull away. "You want to be out there, seeing and doing."

"Yeah." He shook his head, letting his frustration show. "Shep has kids, a wife. He shouldn't be going."

"I…I think it might have something to do with Mr. Remmy's death. He seemed pretty upset," she hazarded, not knowing if Jake had noticed. Then, not wanting to start that conversation with him now, added "Besides, who else would do the aerial survey tomorrow?"

"There are other pilots--" Jake began, irritated at the assumption he was the only person in the entire town who could fly.

"Who can and will keep in contact with Jonah?" she asked, looking up at his now impatient expression.

Jake closed his eyes. "I know Jonah. That doesn't make me the choice to be some sort of go-between." Damn the man. Would those years of idiocy forever brand him? Never mind. He had other reasons to hate himself. Jonah was just too long ago.

"But it does make you the best choice to stick around here and communicate with him. If the plane has a radio that can handle CB frequencies, you can radio back to him, too, right?" Heather was heading in a slightly different direction than he expected. Jake could see the path she was laying out. He wasn't enthusiastic about her direction.

"I could," he agreed slowly, "but that still doesn't make it easier to stay." He could see the direction she was headed, and he wasn't biting that bait. Even though it was damned tempting.

"I know." She turned back to the now-empty street. Truth be told, she wanted to know more, too, without having to wait.

"No, Heather." Jake's voice interrupted her wish. "You aren't going out there." That was downright mulish for Jake, and he wondered how Heather would handle it. He knew how Emily or his mother would--they'd rip a strip off him in a minute. Verbally, of course.

"Well, no. But I could go up with you the next time you use the Cessna." It was phrased as a question, but spoken as an offer of incalculable assistance. Heather was good at this game--she played it frequently to get materials and trips she wanted for her students. Among other things. Heather realized that Jake wasn't being a jerk, he was being careful. And what was that whole 'she's spoken for' routine earlier? Did she miss something? Either way, it was nice to feel his hand at the small of her back--where it was resting now. She wondered if he realized that, or if he'd move his hand and apologize when he did notice it.

Oblivious to his errant hand, Jake stared at her. Sneaky, this one. He'd have to refuse, of course. He'd also have to keep a closer eye on her. What were elementary teachers coming to?

*****

"I'll tell you what happened to Scott Remmy. Poor planning," Gray was loudly declaring inside as Jake and Heather reached their impasse on the porch of Town Hall. "You weren't prepared and Scott Remmy died for it."

"In my office," Johnston said, his voice grim. Damn if he wouldn't deck this nitwit before the day was out.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	7. The Days After: 4, cont 1

**Timestamp: **Bombs + 4-4.5 (midnight-ish)

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Jonah rubbed his eyes and looked around the radio room. Stevie was napping. After ten hours on the radio, Jonah'd taken over. Not that he'd had the opportunity to sleep, but instead had managed several different tasks and an argument with Aylah. Apparently, she was irritated with him for something she did.

"_What the hell do you want?" Aylah snapped, moving a cutting torch from its old position to the perfect spot in the industrial garage. The mess had been even worse than she'd thought, but the tools were damned good and the supplies more than sufficient for surviving a small nuclear disaster._

_Jonah was leaning against the doorjamb, watching her move everything in his garage from one place to another, for reasons that he didn't particularly care about. It galled him that she would walk in here, establish her place without a by-your-leave, and then start rearranging _his_ tools in _his_ garage._

"_Good afternoon, Aylah. It is so pleasant to hear you bitching at me," Jonah replied, his voice quiet. After patching a few things over with Green and managing to play nice with Gracie Lee and a few other fine, upstanding citizens of Jericho Township, he now had to put up with this. She was definitely not the harmonious, gentle lady._

"_Get used to it," she grunted, heaving up a box of scrap metal and carting it to a table to be sorted. _

_Jonah straightened up and stalked toward her. When she turned around, he was firmly in her way._

"_Move," she growled._

"_What crawled up your ass and died?" he asked, not bothering to censor his initial reaction._

_She stared at him, but didn't speak. The rage was back in her eyes--and he knew that look. She was more than tempted._

"_Don't try it, girl. I'll break your arm before you finish the swing." From a gentle, pleasant night to this. Only Aylah. "You're pissed at me? Is that it?" Jonah smiled, and it wasn't a welcome sight, given the anger in his eyes. "You walk in here and demand a place--but you don't come in as part of the gang. No, you walk in with a different role. You put yourself in this position, little girl. If you want out, you know the price--you'll have to go to someone else or leave completely. Once in as a woman, you stay there. If you don't, I can't help you stay safe here."_

"_I know that," she snapped back, her voice hoarse with the effort to keep from yelling. "I am not required to like it."_

"_You only have to like it in bed." He caught Aylah's wrist as her open hand sped toward his face. "And every time I'm in the room." He squeezed her wrist until the bones ground together. "Every time I walk up to you." He crowded into her space, trapping her between his body and the large wood and steel table. "Every time I pull you close," he continued, pushing her arm behind her and suiting action to words. "Every time." This he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing the delicate shell, his breath ghosting over her skin._

_Aylah stood stiff against him, her arms pinned behind her and against the table. Then she slumped and dropped her head to his shoulder. "I know. I know I did this. I know it's my fault that I'm stuck in your bed--and that you don't really want me there. I know, but I don't know another way." She felt his hands shift and move her back to look into her eyes. "Not here." The tired look in her eyes made Jonah relent, but just a bit. She still needed hope._

"_Not for a long while, until they get to know you like I do."_

_Aylah flinched. "Jonah--"_

"_Not in every way," he kissed her neck. "Just to know that you are strong enough to stand alone and hold your own. That you have a place here, and it's not just in my bed." Blue eyes met and held grey. "I've already planted those seeds, but they're stubborn. Changes take time." Still pressing close to her, he skimmed one knuckle down her cheek. "And some changes never come at all."_

_A lot of the fight went out of Aylah then, but she was not about to capitulate. "Will they change enough?" She was asking for hope. Jonah was quiet for a long time. He didn't answer her, but he did tip her chin up and give her a long, slow kiss. Not much for words, even less for romance, this was Jonah's way of avoiding the question while keeping her on an edge between anger and calm. _

_She trusted him, so the kiss would help her calm down. She hated to be kissed or crowded or touched, much less restrained, so the rest of his actions would keep her just mad enough to forget where she was and what her role was for a while yet. The fact that she had enjoyed their night together, a memory from the kiss and the full-body contact, would remind her that being considered Jonah's woman wasn't all bad. _

_Stevie had walked up as Jonah pulled her close, watched as she stayed stiff, then moulded herself to Jonah's body. He saw her speaking to Jonah, Jonah's replies and gentle touches, and hated to interrupt, but he had an important communication from D'Shea's group. The men in D'Shea's group had just taken a small highwaymen's camp and retrieved a semi of food and medical supplies. They were waiting for instructions from Jonah on how to secure the stash and get it back to the business._

"_Boss?" Stevie said, his hesitation everything Jonah did not want to deal with right now. "D'Shea found somethin'. He needs to talk to ya. If that's okay."_

_Jonah looked into Aylah's eyes, mentally cursing D'Shea, the highways, and the bombs. _

"_This isn't finished." A promise, but a hiatus. At Aylah's nod, he released her, turned, and strode quickly to the radio room. This had better not be a crisis._

*****

Heather watched the clock and groaned. Eleven-oh-five. At night. She needed to sleep, because she was supposed to teach tomorrow. Or at least babysit for hours on end. And she couldn't sleep because she wanted, needed, to know what was going on out there. Instead of doing something sensible, like drink some brandy and go out like a light, she crawled out of bed and headed for her work closet. Not her school closet. Her garage closet. She had a nice, bright, battery operated worklight. She'd spend an hour working on Charlotte and then go to bed.

At dawn, she was still working, but the ignition was reliable now. And the engine had stopped smoking. Mostly.

*****

Aylah tossed and turned in bed, alone. She hadn't stayed with Jonah out here in years. Not since she'd dropped in from college and spent a random week or month at a time with him. And here she was, knowing where she was, and discovering that he was a habit. She wanted Jonah beside her while she stayed here.

There wasn't any logic to it. But she couldn't sleep in his bed without him. He'd drummed that into her head. Any woman had to stay with her man--it was the best and safest for all involved. Mostly, any woman would be safe without an escort, what few women went out to the office, but the men would end up fighting over something that ultimately didn't matter, usually a comment or insult to another of the guys, and he'd have to break it up. Then, he'd be in a foul mood and everyone would suffer.

Nothing for it. She got up, slipped one of his long-sleeved button-downs on, her jeans, and her boots. A glance at her watch told her it was almost 3 a.m. She shook her head and walked down to the radio room. If he wasn't going to sleep right now, the least she could do was keep him company.

*****

Johnston sighed as Gail sat up beside him.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, listening carefully for the sounds of the house they knew so well.

"Yes. It was Jake's window. He's going out that way to keep from opening the door. Damn it, Gail, go back to sleep."

"But where is he going, Johnston?" she demanded, as if expecting her husband to be psychic. If he were awake enough to actually consider it a minute, he'd probably have the answer.

"Well, wherever it is, he'll have to walk." Johnston said, even as the engine of his truck roared to life. "Or hotwire my truck again."

"Johnston." He knew that voice. After forty years, he didn't have to look at her to know her lips were pressed tight together and her eyes were narrowing.

"Yes, dear," he said, coughing a little as he sat up and moved to get up and dressed.

"Wait," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "You're still fighting off that cold. I guess it can wait until he comes dragging in tomorrow morning."

"You're too kind, Gail," he murmured, swinging his legs back up into bed and laying back down. "Now would you please go back to sleep?"

The disgruntled little half-sighed growl at his side assured Johnston Green that all was quite normal in his house. And he was going to hear all about it in the morning. Later that morning. Not much later, though. It was well after two.

No doubt about it. Jake was home.

*****

Jake looked at the familiar chainlink fence and padlocked gate. He pulled a key from his pocket as he hopped out of his dad's truck, the truck he'd judiciously borrowed for the trip out here. If the key still fit…it did. Jake opened the gate wide enough to admit the truck, then got out, closed and locked the gate behind him.

A familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway, one arm propped high on the sill, facing the drive. He was glad to see that pose. He clenched his jaw and dove into denial.

The office. Secret rendezvous. Silence.

Jonah.

God help him, but this was all too much like forever ago.

*****

A young teenaged boy walked down the tracks, flashlight shining like a sun. When he came across the wrecked car, he nodded, noting the train was still there--and mostly on the tracks. He looked through the boxcars, and, when he found the one filled with foodstuffs, he smiled.

Now…how to get this back to town?

Of course. Jonah's guys. With a smug little smile, he turned and headed back down the tracks, taking a left three turns before town. This way would get him to Jonah's all the faster.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Aylah, Jake, Jonah, and Dale stood in the cold night air, staring at the trainwreck. It was true. It was hypnotic. Entrancing. They almost couldn't look away. Jake had driven the small moving truck out, Jonah and Aylah had relaxed in the cab, anticipating a pleasant hour's work heaving palettes of food and other products from the train into the semi. This would be a quick trip. Tomorrow, when they guys got back, they'd bring the rest of the transport fleet and several armed citizens out to guard them. Jonah figured it'd be best to let Johnston choose the citizens to stand guard. He actually kept in touch with the veterans. Jonah avoided anything like that. He had enough bad memories without adding "buddies".

"We'll load up the truck. You know commercial driving?" At Dale's negative, Jonah nodded. "Then Jake will drive it into town for you. You'll drive Johnston's truck--and Jake, go home and sleep after you leave the food. Gracie's right?" Jonah swept a hand over his face, ignoring what he knew would be Dale's affirmative. He was feeling every one of his years. Was he really that close to sixty? Damn, where did the time go? "Let's make this quick."

Within minutes, the loading ramp was snugged into place in the boxcar entry and the four began dragging supplies into the empty semi. It didn't take long before there was barely room for the two pairs of handtrucks. Jake drove the truck back to the compound to drop off Jonah and Aylah and let Dale get Johnston's truck.

Jonah and Aylah stumbled into his room and promptly collapsed. Stevie had been rested enough to take the radio until later in the morning. Jake took his dad's truck home, climbed back in through his window, and staggered to bed, wondering what dumb-assed impulse had him dragging out at unholy-a.m. just to go see a bad memory.

Dale hummed happily as he wore himself out stocking Gracie's store again. If he got tired enough, he could forget his mother's last words. Maybe this would do it for tonight. Or, after working all through the day, too, tomorrow night. He wasn't very picky.

The metallic thud of the cans on the shelves, the repetition of something he'd done for so long, was somehow comforting in the endless hours before dawn.

*****

By mid-afternoon, Jonah's men returned to Town Hall to give Johnston the summary of the roads and conditions. The trip north had yielded an abandoned passenger plane on the Tacoma Bridge. In the distance, a few miles further out, there was another plane that hadn't been so lucky. Mitch had radioed back the information and they'd started a check of the back roads, coming up empty and suggesting the planes be disassembled and the materials stored until they could be used.

D'Shea's group hadn't had anything as interesting to report, but they mentioned the semi of supplies they'd brought back to Jonah's and Johnston had agreed to let them keep everything but the medical supplies. The supplies would ensure the men didn't need anything from town for at least three weeks, depending upon the influx of people to the transport offices. Medical supplies were needed more at the clinic, and Jonah had agreed. Only one person from Jonah's crew had objected to the largesse.

"Shut up, Mitchell. They're trained, you're not, and we keep a good kit." Jonah noticed the brunette, Heather, was back. So was Jake. Heather had taken notes while the men spoke; Jake had flagged the map. Johnston had listened and asked damn good questions. Jake's expression had turned thoughtful when the downed planes were mentioned. Made sense. The boy was a pilot, after all.

"We really should take possession of the planes," Jake said into a lull. A sharp glance from his father and a speculative glance from his former mentor compelled him to continue. "The electronics--if they were in the air when the bombs went off, they're no good. An after-effect of the bombs." Jake fumbled for words. Heather nodded encouragement to him. He watched her as he tried again. "The passengers won't be back, and the ones that were on the wrecked plane, well, they should be buried. Luggage, baggage, various materials shipped through the airlines--all of those can be used here. Some of the people from the Tacoma wreck might even show up here in town a little later. Personal stuff--store it somewhere. We've got empty spaces in town. The things that aren't personal, we've got people that need it here." He shook his head once in frustration.

"Got a point, Johnston," Jonah said, becoming the lightning rod for the elder Green's displeasure. "Besides, the metal, parts, and so on could come in handy. What's a plane usually made of--aluminum?" This last was directed back at Jake.

"Yeah. Some other materials, mostly plastics and metals, but the skin is generally an aluminum or aluminum alloy. Some have lightweight steel frames. Components can be used for any number of things--"

Johnston raised a hand. "That's enough." He looked at Jonah and his son. It was almost a glare. "All right. Make it happen. Take the priests in town out to the wreck. The one that's in good condition…just make it happen."

"Guards, Johnston," Jonah said softly. "They'll need someone to watch their backs."

Johnston nodded. A few minutes followed where a detail would be sent to take the planes apart in as many large pieces as possible. He let Jonah take the lead on assigning various people to lead the packing effort and said he'd call for volunteers to help with the unloading and disassembling of the planes. The burials, they knew, would not be easy. That detail was to be left to the priests and preachers in town.

If Jonah had known, Aylah was still rearranging the garage, thinking about the train and the possibilities that it held. As it was, Jonah didn't know that and, after sending his men to work on collecting the odds and ends they'd found out on the highways, including the two planes and their contents, he spoke to Johnston privately. He ignored Jake and Heather, who had gone back to combining Jonah's information with their most recent photographs and the crews out working on the planes. The photographs had been taken only a few hours before. Jake was saying something about the planes to Heather, and she was listening carefully. He'd have to check on the points she raised about the planes with Old Man Adams. The man was a bit nuts and extremely cantankerous, but he was the best in town when it came to planes.

"There's a supply train wrecked over the trestle bridge, five miles or so. Technically it's within the town limits." That was where Jonah left it.

Johnston raised his eyebrows. "Steal from the railroad?" It was a difficult proposition to wrap his head around. Appropriating the planes that were in Jericho's extended, read: county, limits made sense because the cities where they had headquarters probably didn't exist anymore. Even if they did, the condition the planes were in would require more extensive work than could be justified anytime soon.

Trains were a different story altogether. The railroads tended to be particular about who got to play on their tracks. Granted, the town actually owned the land the tracks were on, but the tracks themselves belonged to the rail company.

"If it helps, two cars are partially derailed." The offering was tiny, but it just put the proposition on the less shady side of legality. If the train was even partially off-track, the entire thing could be claimed for the town. Jonah marvelled at the things that had stuck with him from Dr. Clarind's history class. Miss Maddie, also known as Dr. Clarind, would be pleased with him. Evidently, Jonah also recalled that little tidbit of history.

"Gradington vs. Union-Pacific? Mm." Johnston was quiet a moment. It was a Kansas statue. And if the train were just the teensiest bit on town property, they could, legally, claim the entire thing for the town. And given the state of emergency the nation was in--had to be in, since power was still down and communications were shot--he didn't think the railroad would complain too much. If the corporate offices still existed. Either way, Eric was a lawyer. "How heavy?"

"Full up. Didn't see any empties in the first five cars. The food was in the third, so we really didn't go much down the line. That's usually a good sign that it's on it's initial run."

"And you'd know." Johnston slapped his desk and nodded.

"Johnston, I've never tried to knock over a train," Jonah's voice was tired. Would the man never give it a rest? Didn't they have a truce?

"What?" Johnston blinked. "Of course you've never robbed a train. You'd still be in jail if you'd tried." He laughed suddenly. "Hell, Jonah. I meant the transport business. Speaking of which--what possessed you to name your business Quaker Transport?"

"Bought the name from a guy who'd owned a different transport company. The owner of Jericho-Atlas Transport was selling this branch after the bypass went through just up the way from Hayes. He said they just weren't doing enough to keep it going, but, when I was working at the mine, well…" He shrugged a bit and let the sentence trail off. Johnston well remembered the havoc Jonah's last weeks at the mine had caused the town. What gray hairs Jake hadn't given him, that episode had. The explanation, from Jonah, was as good as an apology.

Johnston nodded, accepting the information and the tacit apology. "All right. The planes will be useful, but if that train is packed to the gills, it's our priority. I'll pull together a group that's old enough to know how to guard something and young enough to stay awake. Take Jake, Heather, and your boys that aren't needed at the planes. If it's that well-loaded, you'll need all the vehicles you've got. Maybe more."

"Put out the word for pick-up truck drivers to join us. I've got more vehicles than drivers. And I'll want two to a cab, at least. One driver, one guard." He paused. "Em can drive. So can Mary Bailey."

Johnston only nodded. Jake took a deep breath and nodded, accepting the assignment. Heather, once again, piped up from the side.

"If it's a straight-up diesel semi, I can drive, too." All of the men turned and stared at the petite woman. "What? I spent summers hauling cars to dealerships in Georgia during college. It was good money and I wasn't stuck inside for days on end staring at a computer screen." Jake just continued looking at her.

"What about your cast?" the question came from Jake.

Heather shrugged. "Not like we'll be doing highway driving. Besides, it's on my left foot. Gas pedal is always more dangerous than a clutch, even a double-clutch. But if it makes you feel better, I'll take a smaller vehicle."

Jonah looked at the girl. Johnston pursed his lips and looked at his desk. Jake stared in mild astonishment. Heather just looked around at the men.

"What?" She was honestly confused. No one answered her immediately.

Jonah nodded, accepting the offer on face value. If she was exaggerating, if her cast proved to be a problem, he'd put her to work doing something that didn't involve hijacking tons of food and various other unknown materials. Maybe hijacking was too strong a word. This was, technically, legal after all.

"Aylah, too," Jonah added. She'd complain, but he wasn't going to let her slide. "Stevie's good with finding places for things." He couldn't write a packing slip or fill out an invoice, but he could pack a mansion in a shoebox. When it came to talents Jonah could use, that was more important than good bookkeeping. Besides, he did that part himself. Cut down on skimming.

Johnston was willing to accept it all and move on. Chances were he'd be finding out stranger talents than this. At least Heather was a teacher. Something about the shop elective being taught by a 'snip of a girl' came back to him from a concerned parent three years ago. After convincing the man to let it ride for a while, he hadn't heard anything else. He almost asked, but figured it could wait a while. Jericho only had one school, a K-12. If Heather was a teacher, even elementary, chances were she had at least some involvement with the older kids. If it turned out she couldn't drive, well, she could get some of those kids involved with being useful. It'd be a nice change from what was going on now.

"She mentioned rearranging things last night," Jake said, not thinking about what his father would presume from that statement. "Will she leave that long enough to help?"

Jonah just looked at him. That was a truly stupid question, coming from Jake.

"Must be a stupid question," Heather muttered in Jake's direction, earning a dirty look from him.

"Two hours," Jonah told Johnston, turning to leave. "Send them to Quaker Transport."

Johnston snorted. "Still can't get over that name, Jonah."

"Mild as mother's milk, Johnston," Jonah grinned, no little devilry in his eyes.

"Last time you said that I ended up drinking some 'shine that nearly turned me inside out. Couldn't taste or smell anything for a week," Johnston grumbled, his lips curving up in a reluctant smile. That had also been the time his father had found the two of them weaving their way back to the barn after midnight, not wanting to wake Johnston's rather puritanical mother. Given the way they were singing, and what they were singing, it was a miracle they hadn't done just that. E.J. Green had refrained from passing judgement and sentence on their idiocy. Waking up in a working barn with a hangover had been punishment enough. "Just--"

"I know. Keep it in the lines." Jonah grinned at Johnston. "Not as hard as you might think." With a two-fingered, semi-military salute, Jonah turned and strode for the door, his mind already on the problems at hand.

Jake and Heather stared at the older men. That sounded far too comfortable for the local outlaw and the fine, upstanding mayor.

Jake began to worry about the influence Jonah was having on his father. If Jonah could get his father to grin and reminisce, Johnston must be sicker than he thought. Either that, or…nahh. Couldn't be. Dad was just running an unusually high fever.

*****

At the track, while volunteers and a certain blonde conscript were getting instructions and truck assignments, Jonah's men had cracked open the first several cars. They were thrilled and dismayed to discover that they were going to need a lot more help. Even though Jonah said they were going to use every transport vehicle they had at the office and some people from town were bringing their pick-ups, it wouldn't be enough.

About two hours later, after the first three of big trucks had been loaded and sent to Main Street, Jonah and the rest of the volunteers arrived. Emily made it a point to work well away from her father and Jake. Instead, she worked with Heather, which Heather didn't quite understand, but was willing to accept. At least it was company. Female company. While Heather didn't mind hanging out with the guys, being one of only five women in a group of over 75 was unsettling. Especially when several of these men were supposed to be more on Santa's naughty list than the nice one.

With the information from Noah, Jonah's deputy in any regular or unusual business situation, Jonah realized that this simple snatch-and-grab was turning into a logistical nightmare. And that was just the food and general consumables. They hadn't gotten even a good start yet. The damned train was over a mile long, from Bailey Yard in Nebraska. When it came to shipping, most trains that came through Jericho nowadays were from Bailey Yard and heading to major areas, like Houston. The planes, from what he heard back from Billy over their tweaked CBs, were much easier, if time consuming to unload.

He sent word back with Stanley--nice guy, too damned friendly--that they were going to need a hell of a lot more people out here. Johnston wouldn't have to go far to get help. By now, someone would've run his mouth and gawkers would come out to watch. If they drove, he planned to put them to work. If not, he still planned to put them to work.

Jonah scanned the workers and his trucks and noticed that one of said trucks had pulled down out of the busy area and had parked well down the line. It was Aylah, of course, and she seemed to be checking out other cars. He knew better than to bother her now--especially when he had ordinary Jericho citizens helping to keep an eye on things. Even with Jake as the guard, he didn't need the fireworks that would go up if he confronted Aylah. Chances were they'd fight and the onlookers would end up hurting her or, God forbid, killing one of them--with the best of intentions, of course. He turned back to the group at the front of the train and stayed convenient for any and all questions or yelps for assistance and direction.

*****

Aylah studied the train. Three trucks had gone and come back, seven more were heading out, and another dozen were still being loaded. And it wasn't making much of a dent. This was going to take some serious time. Pretty much everyone was focused on the front end of the train. Aylah was not one for much company, especially when Jonah had rousted her out of finishing her comfortable rearranging and sorting of his garage with a short, hissed argument, so she was staying as far from everyone else as possible.

She knew Jonah had seen her, and she knew he wouldn't come down here just to yell at her again for doing what he wanted her to do--go through cars and find useful things. He wasn't stupid. She was doing what he'd asked--ordered--her to do. He'd take that for now, but later…later they'd finish the argument they hadn't had time to get started last night.

With a sigh, she opened the door to the last boxcar on the line. After that was a set of tankers--no need to open--and a series of flatbeds. She hoisted herself onto the car platform and stopped. Whitish bales of…was that cotton? Damn. An entire boxcar filled with cotton? Weren't these usually shipped in--yep. Open top to keep it from getting ruined during the haul. She wondered if it was still good after the rain, but figured that it was. Cotton was pretty sturdy stuff. Besides, this wasn't bright white, so it couldn't be processed. Okay. This one could wait a bit. Next car.

A dozen cars down the line, she'd found 5 cars filled with cotton bales, one car packed with bales of processed cloth, an entire boxcar of copper pipes, wires, etc., another of various metal ingots on the way to a series of processing plants in Oklahoma, a few cars packed with a variety of well-labelled and non-priority items, and then something that needed to be offloaded quickly.

She hopped off the line and started jogging toward Jonah. In the hour that she'd been exploring and calculating--copper can be melted and reused in so many ways, and the ingots were priceless for a town with no metals handy--Jonah had moved a small group down to the next set of cars. He was in conference with someone, but by the time she would reach him, that would be well over.

*****

"Boss!" Leon called to him, and Jonah turned to see the younger man waving him over to an open car. "We got somethin' here."

Jonah glanced back, but saw that his last set of instructions to the farmers and and town citizens had been followed. "What is it Leon?" He walked over to the car Leon indicated and looked inside. Various things his businesses would find useful--including 2 new cutting torches and several tanks of the various fuels the torches used.

"This is good, but you did not need me for this. Why did you--" Jonah's irritated question faded as Leon indicated the car that Noah was standing by with a jerk of his head. It was the next one down.

"In there. Wanted to keep it quiet." Leon said, glancing at the busy groups ahead of him. No one thought this was peculiar.

Jonah stalked over to the car, prepared to be severely irritated, when the branded crate in his line of sight made him pause. Colt. He looked around, saw other familiar names, too. Browning. Heckler and Koch. Winchester. "We popped a few open, just to check. Three state's worth of products--the works." He indicated a box with a distinctive label. Military, too. Sneaky bastards. "Still pissed, Boss?"

"Noah, you unload keep this one quiet. Load it all on your truck and on Leon's. Take it to the office. Get our guys over here and tell them to keep moving." He thought furiously. "I want only two trucks working on this one in tandem. Get Stevie to use one of our warehouses for all of it." Every one of his men was needed--but he had to have someone on each end to take care of this one load. "Noah, you stay here and supervise. Leon, you're on the office end. Get everything unloaded, then you're done here until it's catalogued and…Hell. Cherrypick it." Noah nodded. He understood what to do. "Keep the exotics, enough ammo for…a year. Be generous. Take the rest to Johnston. I want an absolutely accurate inventory of everything we keep and everything we send." He turned to the younger, smiling Latino. "I don't care how long it takes you, Leon, but you're now in charge of the records." Cold blue eyes warned the cocky young man not to screw it up--or to cook the books on this one. Jonah smiled suddenly. "And I will be reviewing everything."

"Sure thing, Jonah." Leon's grin was gone. Noah hadn't bothered to try grinning at Jonah. They both knew what something like this meant. Three states was what the crates said. Munitions didn't go by train, not for small arms. Not usually. This had been intended for somewhere more important than the city gunsmith. Noah waited until a much more somber Leon was busy pulling his truck around.

"Important car, Jonah," Noah said. "Makes you wonder." About who was looking for this car and who was really going to get it. And who had shipped it. Not all of the contents had matched the labels on the crates.

"Indeed it does. Keep an eye peeled for anything else that's…odd." He had just turned and walked two cars away to check on a load that looked a bit heavy for Stanley's older pickup when Aylah met him.

"Got feed in one of the last boxcars. If you're done with the most essential stuff up here, then get some of these farmers down to carry these feedbags into town before it starts to go. If there's one car full of it--"

"There will be more." The midwest wasn't a farming community, it was the farming continuum for most of the nation. Of course there would be more. Jonah looked around. Thank God--there he was.

Titus Clarind. The man who could keep order among the people of Jericho almost as well as his sister, Miss Maddie. Johnston was good, but Titus was better--and Titus never ran for office; therefore, people listened to Titus even more when he spoke. Jonah knew why they were obeying him--fear. They'd obey Titus for another reason--worth. If Titus looked down on you, nobody would do anything else. He was damned lucky Titus thought there was something in him that kept him worthwhile.

"Brother Clarind," he said, a real smile on his face, "a welcome surprise and perfect timing." He extended his hand in greeting. Titus Clarind would accept nothing less than courtesy from another man. He would not tolerate 'mister' in front of his name, a mistake no one made more than once.

Titus raised a snowy eyebrow, his black eyes and weathered black skin making the gesture elegant.

"You in over your head, Prowse?" Titus' hand was thinner, but still strong. And he still called Jonah by his last name only. At least it wasn't Miss Maddie with her 'if it isn't that Prowse boy…look for that Green boy and wait for Trouble!'

"No, Brother Clarind, but there are going to be some happy farmers who need organization in a few minutes. There's at least one car of feed down the line. Aylah found it. She's not much on the animal supplies, but if she says it's getting ripe in that car…"

Titus smiled. "How's the girl doin'? Been a while since she's come back to visit us."

"Been a while here, too, but I'll see that she comes by. Meantimes, will you take over at the feed cars?"

Titus chuckled wickedly. "Meaning you can keep these boys in line, but a bunch of old hands are beyond you?"

"Old hands tend to do and ignore instructions, unless it's an old hand talking." Jonah grinned at the older man. He knew his limits, even if he did tend to leap over them when he felt the need. What had possessed him to bite off this trainwreck? Oh, right. Pride. Well, pride and the strange desire he had not to disappoint Johnston, which was as alien to him as the desire to dress up as Dolly Parton and prance around in stiletto heels. One good deed and down the rabbit hole he went.

"And you a lot of things, Prowse, but an old hand ain't one of 'em." Titus nodded and turned away, raising his voice in a farmer's field-holler. Neither one felt the need to say anything else about what Jonah needed and what Titus could do.

Several of the older farmers and farmhands turned to watch Titus walking their way. Jonah watched as Titus got closer to the group and heard a faint call that, somehow, the men understood. Titus and the majority of the farmers broke off from the paper supplies and books as Jonah watched. As soon as Jonah turned to follow the progress of the trucks returning from their trip to town, someone shouted his name. He looked around and prepared to address the next crisis.

"Jonah! Toby's pinned between a wheel and the platform and we can't move the truck to get to him. He's bleeding bad--" The words were lost as Jonah bolted toward the knot of men crouched under one of the cars.

*****

In town, Johnston grabbed Bonnie and his secretary.

"Ladies, I need some help. We've got more coming in than we expected. Bonnie, please go down to the school and talk to the principal. Tell her I need every high school student, eighth grader, and upper-grade teacher she's got to do inventory. Then you need to go meet Mary. Did Stanley show you how to drive the moving truck?" Bonnie signed that he did, not wanting to interrupt vocally. She could tell when the Mayor had something in mind. "Good. You'll be driving in her place for the rest of the haul. Tell her to meet with Bethanne at the stores where we're putting the haul." Bonnie nodded and went on her errand.

Johnston turned to his secretary, fifteen years of familiarity leaving him comfortable with designating her as his second regarding the supply runs.

"Bethanne, I need you to go find that IRS agent Stanley was complaining about and get her down here. She's going to be useful, whether she likes it or not. If she doesn't, tell her to pay her hotel bill, in cash and book her flight back to D.C. Then I want Mary Bailey down there, too. She's been driving for Jonah, and she'll have an idea how many loads have come in here and how many have gone to the office. I know Jonah's taking some non-perishables to his place. He's also got an inventory he's promised me." He could see the objection on her lips and held up a hand to forestall her. "I'll handle Jonah--besides, we wouldn't have this much coming in without his help." She couldn't debate that without sounding like a complete witch, so she stayed quiet. "You and Mary will be second in authority to the IRS woman. Direct the teachers to different areas, according to their fields of knowledge. The teachers will be handling their students--get them to take the best for each subject as their helpers, and those that are generally lousy or lazy students can be the movers and do the heavy lifting. Use the laptops we have here for Town Hall. We have enough for you three and the teachers--we've only got a dozen or so teaching the older grades. You remember the inventory we've had to do here the past year?" Bethanne Sartain groaned. "Same thing, only more stuff and you get lots more help."

"You want model numbers, skews, and ISBNs on the books, too?" Bethanne was hoping he'd say no.

"On everything that has a model number, skew, or ISBN. Any books, of course, go to the library for them to catalogue. Anything electronic--store it in the fallout shelter under Town Hall. Medical supplies go to the clinic--get Gail to pull someone for inventory there. Otherwise, use your best judgement. We're using the empty storefronts on Main first. Mary will know which ones. If those fill up, then we'll go to the warehouses on Elm. It should be a while yet before we get that far, though."

"Gotcha." Bethanne sighed. "Who's going to supply dinner?" It was getting late enough that they would need the roadwork lights out there soon. It was certainly too close to supper to refuse to feed everyone, and coordinating anything with the rest of the town was going to take a lot longer than could be considered efficient.

"Drop by Davey's on the way to Bailey's. Ask him to cater--he uses gas, not electricity, so he can still operate. Tell him to prep for 100, real numbers to follow. Town'll reimburse in goods or cash--his choice." Johnston pulled on his coat and picked up his radio. Damn thing was almost out of charge, but Eric had just come in with a message about a wreck on Jubilee Road, and that meant somebody had to drive the ambulance. At least the ambulance had a good radio in it. "Oh, and Bethanne? See to it that he gets an order for those out at the train and planes. Both of those are going to be working 24 hours a day in shifts, if I know Jonah."

Johnston smiled his thanks and turned to scurry for the ambulance, missing the raised eyebrows of the fortyish woman who hadn't grown up in Jerhicho.

If Johnston knew Jonah? Bethanne snorted. Well, if the mayor insisted, he'd get it--he'd just better want what he got.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

A/N: The Kansas state statutes mentioned here and the court case(s) are complete B.S. invented by me. But they _sound_ like something that would be in legal books somewhere. :-)


	8. The Days After: 4 5 & 6

**Time frame:** Bombs + 6(ish) at the end; covers Bombs + 4-5 in a semi-gloss prose.

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

It was past midnight. Jonah had put the groups on shifts, and Titus had gotten the farmers to agree to split their time between their farms and the hauling. Noah had taken a few hours to rest after getting the ammo run to Johnston, and now he was taking over for Jonah on-site. Jonah and Aylah, a very grouchy Aylah, were returning to the office with a load of the metal ingots and car parts.

"If you want something tonight, Big J, you're out of luck." Aylah's murmur was barely audible over the engine noise.

"Aylah…shut up." Jonah didn't bother to raise his voice over a whisper. He was too busy trying to keep his eyes open and his attention on the road. The soft, even breathing beside him told him that Aylah wasn't listening. Jonah turned his attention to the road and some of the things they'd found over the day. What was he going to do with six cars worth of raw cotton?

*****

Jake and Heather finished pulling the loading ramp into the truck and pulled the door shut.

"Last load, Heather. We're off-shift until morning." Jake struggled to hold back a yawn.

"You're supposed to do another aerial tomorrow," she said, succumbing to the need to stretch her jaw.

"Not happening. Not with this to finish." He looked at the train. After the first several loads had been hauled in, they'd changed tactics. Each car had been checked for usefulness, the most useful things were taken first. The car filled with computer games and other electronics had been relegated by Jonah and Titus as "damned near useless" and left for later.

"Yeah. I just can't help wondering…" her voice trailed off as she looked down the rails to the last cars. They were pipe-and-log cars, and then there were the fuel tanks.

"Earth to Heather?" Jake said interrupting her pause.

"Oh. The fuel. We've tapped one of the tanks today--"

"Thanks to you, oh gasoline thief," he said, a tired smile taking the sting out of the words. She grinned back, just as feebly.

"But propane? The rest of it? One of Jonah's guys said they didn't have fuel trucks--something about the licensing requirements."

"Hazardous materials and small commercial transport don't quite mix. The gas companies tend to use their own tanks, but hire the drivers based on their own criteria. Besides, Jonah didn't want the fees associated with keeping the tanker trucks. He bitched enough about the two refrigerator trucks he had a few years back. Those didn't last long." They'd walked back to the cab and Heather took the wheel as Jake took shotgun. He'd started out driving, but after Mitchell had mentioned something about letting 'his honeypot' go it alone, he'd headed over and helped her out.

Emily hadn't stayed with them long, instead taking the job of positioning the trucks for loading and monitoring weights for private vehicles. Even though she had irritated her father during her wild years with Jake, she had learned the business part of the Jonah's enterprises almost without effort. Jake realized what Emily was doing. She should have continued driving, but she had a knack for the business and the vehicles that she had inherited from her father. No one was stupid enough to mention it to her, though. She was in a snappish mood, and it hadn't gotten any better when Jake had gone to help Heather.

Helping Heather. That was a joke, but it was his own fault that he'd been forced into her company. Forced probably wasn't the right word. He enjoyed working with the perky brunette. It was the way he had had to go keep her company and join her in the loading and driving--guarding on his part--that irked him. She seemed oblivious and was perfectly happy to have him around. He felt like a jackass, which was about par for the course where Emily and Jonah were involved. Mitch had made the comment, not Jonah. That made it worse, but there was too much to get done in a short amount of time to go deck the offending party. And he had invited the teasing, however malicious it was intended to be.

Well, he'd made the claim--even if Heather had no idea what he'd done. Better to keep her with him than around the others and unattached. She wasn't in danger, but he wasn't sure how she would take Mitch's brand of flirting. It was better to be there and lend a bit of protection by "claiming" her than to subject her to the crude comments of the guys. Jonah wouldn't let anyone touch her, but tempting fate was, in Jake's opinion, just plain stupid.

Now, so long as they stayed away from the office at night, no one would have to know about the reality of their relationship; more specifically, that there was no relationship.

"Oh." She climbed into the cab and turned the key. After several minutes of quiet, Heather asked, "Do you think Jonah would let me use his garage? I was listening to D'Shea about the maintenance, and I could really use a place to work on Charlotte."

"Charlotte?" he asked, wondering what else she could say that would surprise him. She knew how to work on cars? It seemed like every other sentence made him readjust his impression of her.

"My truck." Heather perked up thinking about restoring her baby. "She's been pretty badly used, but she's sturdy. Needs more engine work, though, and I won't even get into the bodywork…" Heather rambled on happily for several minutes.

The more Jake listened and watched, the more fascinated he was by her. Emily had been wonderful, wild and wicked, and he still loved her, but Heather was what his grandfather would call a class-A little firecracker. Emily had appealed to his emotions, but Heather simply intrigued him. He admired her, enjoyed her company, and was continuously wondering about what she thought and what random knowledge she'd come up with. No, she was nothing like the siren call of Emily. Heather demanded that he think to keep up with her, to anticipate her. Emily had been instinct and gut and pain and sensation. Was the fact that he found thinking so attractive a sign that he'd finally grown up? Or was it a sign that he'd outgrown Emily?

"Well?" she asked.

Jake had stopped listening a while ago, just enjoying watching her talk about something she enjoyed so much, wondering what else could put that expression on her face. He was guess chocolate and a new set of socket wrenches. And maybe a pair of sexy heels with an ankle strap--but he wasn't willing to bet on that. The socket wrenches, though…And she'd asked him a question. Dammit! What was it? Oh. Right.

"Hm? Oh. No, Jonah won't mind. He might put you to work doing other things, which means you don't get back in the classroom anytime soon. Unless Dad demands it."

"I can handle that," she said softly. "I'm a good teacher, Jake, but right now? I'll be babysitting, not teaching. And there are others who can handle that--if the kids even show up." The memory of the school bus coming back late with a 9-year-old with straws in her throat was still eating at several parents. None of her elementary students had gone to school yesterday, which had put her at loose ends, until the mayor's messenger had found her.

Jake let the silence fall back between them, wanting to warn her about the way Jonah could just take over your life, even when you were looking out for yourself. But it was late and the words wouldn't come. Or maybe he couldn't find the right words and force them out. He wasn't good with words. Actions, okay so he wasn't good with those either--he tended to crash and burn. But there had to be some way to keep her safe from the darker influences there.

Then again, maybe she didn't need any help. Maybe she could hold out against Jonah--maybe that bright-eyed enthusiasm and innocence was the key. Would she succumb to the things that drew him to the darker side of Jericho? The same leadership his father had, but without the strict moral code? The honesty that was a combination of spitting in the 'good people's' eye and staying alive in a world where breaking your word could mean death? Or would she keep him safe from falling back into old habits, old patterns of thought? From the old ways that had burned him so badly in Iraq?

Even with everything he'd been through, maybe because of everything he'd been through, there was something about Jonah that drew him. Heather might be his only lifeline to keep out of Jonah's grip, since his father seemed to be letting the man back into town. Even more surprising, Johnston was letting Jonah take Jake as help, even going so far as to volunteer Jake for Jonah's work. Granted, Jake was doing other things as well, but after all that had happened, wouldn't it make more sense for Johnston to keep Jake as far from his old mentor as possible?

Or was he just doomed to forever disappoint the one man whose good opinion mattered most to him?

*****

It took another four shifts to finish unloading the train of the most useful items, which comprised approximately one-third of the train. The planes were presently being disassembled, the metal skins and parts hauled to the airfield for Old Man Adams.

A group of older women was taking care of the luggage that had been on the airplanes, carefully unpacking, sorting, and repacking what was deemed to be purely personal property. Clothing, toiletries, foodstuffs were all sent to storage in town. Pictures, diaries, cards--those were stored carefully with the names of the owners on them. The warehouse that held this effort was led by a quiet lady named Jenny Clarind, Titus's wife. The older women had pulled some very personal things for use, like lingerie and computers, while putting various toys and dolls back into storage. Had anyone asked, Jenny would have explained her rationale with her usual calm, low voice. As no one was willing to disturb this particular chore, she was left with no conflicting input from the town.

The trains had been stripped of the most immediately useful things. After that, most of the people went back to their jobs and the work of survival. Jonah met with Johnston and the inventory supervisors, Mimi's position taken over for this meeting by Mary Bailey, who had benefited greatly from the large amount of various alcohols found in one boxcar. She had the only tavern, and so she got the alcohol. In return, she had to take over the briefing while Mimi was out, as she had put it, 'negotiating living space and conditions.' Since the IRS lady had mentioned something about audits making good blackmail, Mary could only wait to hear the outcome from Stanley. Mary was privately betting on Stanley's easy charm and stone-stubborn nature.

Jonah was left with a list of things that hadn't been unloaded and were, mostly, unexpected and unusual boons--if one knew what to do with them. The fabric was easy. The huge pipes, cotton bales, and electronic equipment, not so much. He'd mention them to Johnston at the end, after finding out what, exactly, they'd managed to get into the storefronts. After the first long day, everything had blurred together as a string of quick decisions, pleasant and unpleasant surprises.

"Okay, so here's where we stand," Mary began, more than a bit nervous about the gathering. It wasn't enough that Johnston and Jonah and the majority of the city workers--or their bosses--were present, along with several interested citizens, mostly appointed or elected as messengers to their section of town. Eric was there. Instead of worrying about what the reaction would be to the unexpected selection of sex toys, she was worried about what Eric would think if she botched this. In hindsight, she would decide she really should've worried about saying certain words in front of the preacher's wife.

Several useful things had been found, like the crates of batteries ranging from AAA to 12V to nickel-cadmium; the pesticides and fertilizers; the ammunition and weapons; the greenhouse and gardening materials; gas, coal, and other fuels; a gross of solar cells; dozens of clothing shipments for larger cities; and the set of blacksmith's equipment that had been on its way to a man in Wichita area. Titus and Maddie Clarind nodded as the list grew in length and usefulness. Jonah's head snapped up as Mary continued down the list, comfortable in the simple task of reading a long list after the first several items. He was about to ask her to repeat herself, but the preacher's wife beat him to it.

"I'm sorry, dear," the elderly lady said, interrupting Mary's impersonal reading of the inventory. It had been over 30 minutes, and they were into the less important finds. "But what did you say there was a case of? Dials?"

"No," Mary said, not even blinking, "dildos. There are also seventy sets of handcuffs, three cases of vibrators in various sizes and colors, some assorted domination and bondage paraphernalia including the standard chains and whips, a dozen penis-and-breast shaped ice trays, various nude and/or pornographic calendars, magazines, DVDs, videos, some other novelty items, and a few things no one is quite sure what they could be used for, unless it's a bizarre form of electrolysis." She glanced further down the page of her list to make sure she hadn't missed anything. "Oh. And one blow-up sheep."

Jake, who had slipped into the back of the room with the newest set of aerial photographs he and Heather had just gotten developed, hacked and coughed into his hand, remembering a threat he'd made to Stanley years ago regarding a blow-up sheep. He hoped no one could tell he was trying not to laugh. His mother, sitting in the front of the room near Johnston, gave him a dirty look. Jonah was more fortunate--he had years of biting his tongue and refusing to laugh aloud. The look on the old lady's face! But, were Miss Maddie's eyes gleaming?

Something about the idea of Miss Maddie owning a pair of handcuffs did not engender nausea, but sheer terror. The woman had left a deep impression on him, mostly in the form of fingers twisting his ear and the extensive hours of detention mowing the school's grounds. On the bright side, Johnston would share those memories, since her other hand had generally been connected to the older boy's ear.

"Oh my," the preacher's wife said, eyes glazing over in shock. "Surely that shipment wasn't meant for Jericho!"

"Ummm…the manifest said it was destined for New Bern, actually. Anyone ever hear of Lady Heather's House of Hedonism?" Mary looked up, gazing around the room. With those fateful words, every eye had turned to a certain petite brunette.

Heather was studying the 10x14 photographs she was holding. The absolute silence in the room finally caught her attention. When she looked up, every eye was focused on her.

"What?" she asked, completely oblivious to what Mary had been saying. Jake whispered the question to her, the susurrations loud in the unnatural quiet.

"You mean the crazy old lady is still in business?" Heather yelped, eyes wide. "I thought she'd died last year!" The silence got louder. Finally Johnston came to the rescue.

"Well, we'll figure out something to do with all of that. Eventually." He was interrupted by a wicked chuckle from Miss Maddie. Several other coughs and titters were heard throughout the slightly scandalized crowd. Johnston pressed his shin against the edge of his desk and used a tiny bit of pain to keep from blushing. Of all the blatantly stupid things to say… "Meanwhile, we have some decisions to make. We have seed, greenhouses, and various other things available now. Do we go ahead and set up secondary farms inside those? If so, how do we heat them, light them, and so on? How are we going to distribute the clothing and material? How are we going to determine fair pay, mortgage bonds, and the like? Most of our goods come from outside town, if not outside Kansas, and our industry is severely limited to the mine, the farms, and a few large businesses. There's money in town and in the bank, but we're on our own until we can manage some sort of contact with the outside world again. We need to think like the pioneers did when they founded this town, but we've got more people and more of some resources. We also have different needs and knowledge. I'm open to ideas here."

Jonah spoke up, finally voicing something he that had been nagging him for the past few days. "It's been over five days and we don't have power back yet. Fuel is, even with the tankers on the track, limited. We need to look at alternate forms of power, just in case something did happen to Topeka and the surrounding area, since our power comes from that area. And we need to consider that, with communications out and the size of our town, we are going to be low on the list of places to get back into service. If this blackout lasts, winter is going to be a particularly cold hell."

Johnston wanted to throw something at Jonah. Trust the man to twig directly to one of the worst-case scenarios and one of the things Johnston had been hoping to address after ideas started flowing through the room for other, smaller, concerns. Damn the man. Again.

"Windmills," Heather said, a single blurted word into the suddenly uneasy silence. "We can put together windmills. Solar cells for Kansas in winter would be pointless, but one thing we have plenty of is wind."

"Carl?" Johnston called on the city engineer. "Look into it. Get back to us with some sort of plan in the next two or three days." Carl nodded and made a note on his clipboard. He had also noted several different items his department could use for the city. This was one more thing to consider, and maybe they could figure out a solution.

Johnston looked out at the crowd again. "All right, with Carl and his men looking into that, if anyone knows about how to put together a wind turbine, or knows about electrical work for a city of any size, please put together what you know and let Carl have it to look over. Anything else that we need to address immediately?" He tried not to glare at Jonah. The glare, or lack thereof, made no difference to the man who irritated Johnston more than his own prodigal son did.

"We also have some things out on that train that we have room to store, but no idea what use they'll be. With the blackout, the electronics are useless--we can put them in the fallout shelters for now, just to keep any idiots from thinking they're fair game. But we have pipes, heavy construction materials, unprocessed cotton in bales, and literally tons of other things that we don't have any immediate use for. My men will continue bringing these things to the warehouses--the things that will fit--but what can we do with the rest?" Jonah shook his head. "Ideas?"

"Construction yard makes sense for those pipes--" one man began.

"The pipes aren't getting taken off those flatcars without a crane." Jonah shook his head. "They're at least thirty-six inch reinforced concrete and the smallest lengths over ten feet per section. The largest lengths are about a hundred feet in length. There are also steel pipes of the same size, as well as solid metal rods in lengths between forty and one hundred feet. We need some serious lifting power to get these taken care of. And what the hell use are they after that?" Jonah was not in the construction business, nor was he interested in the town infrastructure.

The man nodded, obviously considering the ways the pipes could be moved and stored for later. One lady, a woman who had lived through the depression and was widely considered to be the oldest citizen in Jericho, added her thoughts. She was a spry old lady, but she tired easily. Her voice held a small tremolo of exhaustion as she spoke.

"The cotton can be processed. Several of us learned to spin and weave by hand." A tiny smile ghosted over her wrinkled face. "It was a long time before Jericho got full power, so we learned to do things the old way." The lady looked over at Miss Maddie, "Something you youngsters seem to have forgotten." Tired she may have been, but the light, teasing tone made Maddie smile.

"Mm-hmm, but not all of us." Maddie Clarind added. She had been born into the Depression, but her memories of work and life really started during the war years. "And speaking of youngsters, those children need to get back into school." She pulled a document several pages thick and yellowed with age from the bag at her feet. "Now, this may sound odd to many of you, but old E.J. asked me to put together a plan for education to continue shortly after the Cuban Missile Crisis. Now, the population's grown some," several people chuckled, "but the bones are still good.

"Everyone here knows my views on idle young'uns and trouble," she raised one eyebrow at Johnston and glanced over to Jonah as well, "and who said that these children can't be useful? The basic premise is simple--they work in the library and research information for alternative ways of living, in this case without several modern conveniences, and in the afternoons work with mentors as apprentices. It will take a bit of time before they all find a comfortable fit for the afternoon work, but they'll continue learning." Maddie smiled, a faint, knowing smile. "And I've found hard work is an excellent motivator for academic excellence."

Johnston grunted, then chuckled. "There's nothing quite like hard labour to make sitting down to a book a luxury." He nodded, and was about to speak when the principal spoke up.

"Miss Maddie, please bring your paper to my house this evening. I'll keep the fire warm and the coffee hot." The man looked at Johnston, then the crowd. "I know you want your kids at home, where you can keep them safe, but if we keep them in school, they'll feel less adrift." His jaw tightened, "And stay out of trouble."

Several heads nodded. They'd noticed a lot more in the way of misbehaviour in the last few days, and this would serve two useful purposes. The children would be educated, and the town would have a small army of researchers working through the library stacks and private book collections.

Another lady, who had been whispering to her husband, had gathered the interest of several people around her. After some urging that caught the attention of most of the room, Johnston made her choice simple.

"Looks like we got someone with an idea back in the back," he said, his voice kind but gruff. He did not want to waste time on tender sensibilities or shyness. People needed to speak up now, while they had a group together.

Reluctantly, the lady stood and chimed in.

"Have you considered using the greenhouse materials to create old-fashioned orangeries?" Several people turned to look at the woman, most of them curious about the idea. She stumbled over her next words and then settled into an explanation. "They're not diff…Maybe it won't work here…I just…It's the way oranges were grown in England in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. They had large, heated rooms, most of which were half-sunken to help keep the warmth in. We have the equipment and the land to create sunken greenhouses, which would make the amount of material we need for each one even less--and having earth sided walls, at least for part of the walls, would keep the heat in better."

Nods went around the room.

"Is the nursery lady here?" Johnston asked. A woman dressed in a grubby pair of overalls and a warm jacket stood. "Can you get with Mrs.--I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Belinda Carlisle," she said, her husband's hand slipping into hers for support.

"Belinda, then. Would you talk with Hattie Russell here about the way to put these together? She owns the nursery here in town, and she's got the greenest thumb around."

Miss Maddie laughed. "Everybody talks to her about their plants, even Stanley and my brother-in-law. And don't worry about the labour. We got plenty of people needein' something to do that will contribute food for later. Is there a limit on the yields in these orangeries? Or the crops?"

"I…I wouldn't try to plant wheat or corn, but most smaller plants will do nicely. Potatoes, carrots…anything that can be grown in a pot anyway. Definitely berries and vine vegetables." Belinda blinked, then slowly sat down as Hattie Russell began making her way through the group to sit next to her. Their conversation quickly moved from the town meeting to the door, then over to the Carlisle's house. A few people whose families had owned farms years ago followed them, and Johnston felt a weight raise off his chest. At least they had possible solutions for sustenance in the works.

Subjects were raised and batted around the room, several people volunteering to look into or hold meetings at their houses for a small group to put together a workable solution for what might be needed in the future. Things were pulling together. Another question came up about meats and the rules for hunting, since they had more than a few days before the food supply ran out now. The train and planes had rendered more than six weeks worth of supplies for the entire town, though not all of those were edible. Bethanne made a note on her list about hunting, putting Eric's name beside it. Hunting laws fell under the legal section of the equation and legal questions tended to go to Eric, at least for research and general implementation. Actual practice went to one of the seven attorneys in town. Three of them had been in Denver for a national conference.

*****

Jonah watched as the meeting broke up with ideas flowing back and forth across the room, different groups agreeing to meet at different houses and designating topics for discussion. He looked over at Johnston and felt something odd. It had been a long time since he'd contributed something good to this town. Longer since he hadn't been looked at sideways just for entering a room. That odd feeling was pride in his own part of the equation. He didn't want to lose it. As he walked over to Johnston, he noticed Jake and Heather coming forward, too.

"Johnston, Gail," he began, considering his next words carefully. He hadn't been more specific earlier because he hadn't wanted to cause a panic in the town, but there was something important on his mind, courtesy of Aylah's past and a few close calls at the wreck site. "If the power stays out, the Clinic will need everything we can get for fuel, unless there's a quick-fix with that windmill idea. I'd like to have Aylah look over the blueprints and city plans for that block. Everything else in town can make do without power until your group gets a plan in place, but if the med center goes dark, we are in a world of trouble."

"I'll help," Heather offered.

"Just what is your degree in, Miss Lisinski?" Johnston asked, finally curious enough about her varied talents and irritated enough with her to raise the question.

"Physics, actually." She grimaced. "But I also wanted to teach--so I had a double major. Minored in Applied Mechanics." Jake looked over at her and grinned. Big blue eyes narrowed. "If you so much as think the word overachiever, you're walking to the airport next week."

"Actually the word that came to mind was 'workaholic'," he replied, his grin widening. Heather shook her head and continued.

"The efficiency of any windmill will be dictated by its design, and since the windspeeds can vary so much here, even though the wind never really stops, I'd like the chance to look over what the engineers come up with--or what Aylah? was that her name?--comes up with for the clinic." Jonah nodded and promised he'd mention it.

Gail surprised herself and everyone else when she addressed Jonah. "If it hadn't been for you and your boys, we'd never have managed to get these things in before they were ruined. Especially the medicines and the farm supplies. It's been cold enough that the medicines were still good, but that feed and seed…" She took a deep breath and did something completely unexpected. "Thank you, Jonah."

Everyone stared at the redheaded woman, known for her straight-talk, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

"My pleasure, Gail," Jonah replied, the surprise in his eyes making her believe the words. It wasn't forgiveness-not by a long shot--but it was a start. Jake pulled the conversation out of the Twilight Zone by holding up the pictures he and Heather had snapped close to noon.

"Got new intel," he said, addressing his father in particular. "And it doesn't look any worse. There's another train, a smaller one, ten miles inside the county line on our side. It'd be a trip, but we can at least check it out."

"Mm." Johnston rubbed his face. "All right. A quick trip to observe, then, if it's worthwhile, we'll get to it as soon as we can. Otherwise, we'll finish with the one closest to town and see where we stand. I want to get people planning for a month from now, at the least. If possible, I want them to start looking toward March and what we'll have if we just keep going as we are."

Mary had stayed, wanting to hear more about the way they'd decide to distribute some of these things. "I think the seeds are planted, Mayor Green. Now we have to see what people come up with."

Jonah nodded and prepared to leave. "And with that, I need to get back and talk to Aylah. I'll send Stevie with the list of what we took out to the office. He's been organizing and packing while Leon and Billy have been working on the inventory. The rest of the men are pulling in loads for town."

"What did you keep, Jonah?" Johnston asked, his tone curious. In the past few days, Jonah had proven to be just as valuable as that Aylah hellcat had promised. Years had gone by without Johnston thinking of Jonah as anything but a pest and an outlaw, but now he could remember some of their time as kids--and that Jonah hadn't been much different from himself.

"Copper pipes, wires, fittings; metal ingots; some other things that Aylah wanted to look over. Certain things can be altered or refitted or even remade. She's got the experience and ability, I've got most of the tools." Jonah shrugged. "Seemed to be a fair division of labour."

"Would you mind having Old Man Adams and Oliver out to help? Adams is damned strong at finding practical uses for otherwise useless things, and Oliver has a knack with seeing the potential for small mechanical bits." Johnston omitted that Oliver was also completely nuts, but both men understood why. He'd been a gentle boy, before the draft. After spending time as a POW in Hanoi, well, he'd never been the same. Then again, neither had Johnston or Jonah, and neither one of them had been captured.

Jonah nodded. "Tomorrow." He looked out the window at the gathering dark. "I need to get back." He looked at Jake and Heather. "Drop in tomorrow. Seems like Heather has a good background, and you're handy to have around, Jake."

Jake nodded, a twitch in his jaw the only evidence of his displeasure, and put his hand at Heather's waist, surprising her a bit, but not shocking her. He'd been doing little things like that since she'd met Jonah. She figured he was just being protective, but she couldn't quite figure out why. Jonah seemed nice, even if he did come on a little stronger than she liked.

The thought of taking Heather out to Jonah's after the way he'd spoken up for her when his men first saw her gave Jake a headache. He'd do it, though. He could see the agreement on his father's face, the tentative encouragement on his mother's. And he wasn't going to let Heather go out there alone the first time. He'd taken her on as his responsibility, just to be safe. Now he was enjoying the company, but he dreaded explaining it to her. With any luck, he'd be able to avoid that until he'd convinced her to keep him around as more than a friend. He said something to Jonah about being there at a decent hour and watched as the man left.

As he spread out the pictures and Heather made notes on the whiteboard that had been pushed to the side for the meeting, Mary talked with Johnston and Gail about the distribution scheme they'd most likely be putting into place. Jake's hands paused suddenly.

Convince Heather to keep him around as more than a friend? But…he still loved Emily, didn't' he?

He worked to shove the thought from his mind as Johnston wound up his conversation with Mary and returned to the table to see the latest near-time map. No matter how much he liked Heather, no matter that his eyes wanted to follow her as she hobbled around the room, this report couldn't be botched by his own unruly thoughts.

*****

"So the brunette wants to check my work?" Aylah asked, half amused, half angry at the idea. "You sure this isn't an excuse to get another woman out here? Tired of me already, Big J?" They were in his room, she was drying off as he took off his boots.

Jonah looked down at his own personal hellcat. "Only when you get like this, Aylah. And she didn't say anything about checking your work. She has a complementary degree. Let her use it. Besides, this town is short on people who know their way around real tools. Most people, especially the farmers, can deal with their own small problems, but there's only a handful of people who do my kind of work." Jonah shook his head. "Or your kind."

Aylah nodded, accepting that explanation. That didn't make it any easier to swallow, though. The thought of someone else vetting her work on a simple wind-driven electric generator grated against her professional pride. She was good at what she did, and she never had really played well with others. Except Jake.

"Besides," he continued, taking off his shirt and moving to the shower, "Jake's already claimed her, mostly to keep anyone from here from chasing her tail, I think. He's coming here with her tomorrow. He's useful, so you can put him almost anywhere in the shop and he'll find something worthwhile to do." Jonah didn't stop to consider that no small part of that was due to the way Jonah had demanded excellence from Jake--even if the skills Jake learned had been applied in quasi-legal and flatly illegal areas. Jake was only a screw-up when it came to morality. He was a damned smart boy.

"Does she know that?" Aylah asked. Jonah understood her meaning.

"If she doesn't now, she will soon," he said, stepping into the hot water. After the long days, he was looking forward to the heat loosening the muscles that were screaming for mercy. It was going to have to be a long shower. He stretched his arms out and put his palms on the cool tiles, letting the water run down his neck and back. The heat was a welcome relief. He wondered how long it would take for Aylah to decide to be reasonable about Heather coming out here. Knowing her, it could be weeks. He was thinking he'd have a nice, hot shower and hoped for a restful night. If Aylah decided to be difficult, he could only hope she'd wait until morning to cause trouble. He was tense enough now that if he didn't relax, he wouldn't sleep. That wouldn't be good for anyone, including himself.

Back in the bedroom, Aylah thought over the conversation. After several minutes, she discarded the towel and walked into the steamy bathroom. She stepped into the shower behind him, ignoring the fact that she'd just finished drying off. He glanced over his shoulder at Aylah in surprise when he felt her arms wrapping around him and her body pressing against him. He didn't speak, didn't question this unusually sweet gesture of hers. She leaned against him for a long minute before she slid her hands to his shoulders and started kneading out the tension. He groaned as the knots in his neck and shoulders started to loosen, his knees threatening to give out at the sudden release of tension. When her hands slid down to work the long muscles by his spine, he felt more than just relief. After several minutes, he turned around and began to return the favour, pulling her against him and working his hands along the worst knots in her back. He felt her shift against him as the tension worked out of her and smiled when she sighed and nuzzled his neck.

Or not a not-so-restful night.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	9. The Days After: 8

**Warning:** References to naughty, adult things…but all in good fun. Mild language. Creation of events that sound fun, but might not actually work. Then again, they might be perfectly possible, but I haven't had the time to do the research to check myself.

**A/N:** I'll be fudging the timeline a teensy bit, but working with the original events as much as possible…within reason. I'm not going to keep Mimi in town for two weeks or have everyone sitting on their thumbs for those weeks, waiting for the power to come back on. It smacks of lazy acceptance, which is not a rural attitude. Also notes re: Jonah's past/town relationships from teen years & before. If some things seem to be happening too fast, bear with me. Nothing is so clean and easy in life.

**Time frame:** Bombs + 8(ish) at the end; covers Bombs + 4-7 in a semi-gloss prose. Yes, last chapter was day 6, but this one has some flashbacks.

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

As it turned out, the night had been more restful than Jonah had thought. By the end of the shower and loosening all the knotted muscles they could, he and Aylah were so exhausted they could barely dry off and stumble into bed. He slid under the covers on the side of the bed next to the door, pulling her close and relaxing as she cuddled into him. Before he drifted off, he heard her tired explanation.

"You've got enough headaches right now, Jonah. I'm willing to wait and bitch at you when things get settled into a new routine."

"Much appreciated, sweetheart," he murmured. Neither remembered falling asleep.

*****

Over the next four days, Miss Maddie implemented the school plan, the last bits from the two train wrecks were pulled and stored, and the only things on the tracks left to tackle were the fuel tanks.

Jonah was in Johnston's office with the revised town council, which had been increased by the neighbourhood representatives in place, not the original council. It was a change that had come from a chance comment from none other than Gray Anderson just hours before he left.

"_You don't have all the answers, Mayor. What about the ideas the people here have?" It was another bid for election that Johnston did not want to hear right then, and his response had been uncharacteristically terse._

"_Fine. Get it organized, Gray. If you can find one person in every major section of town who's willing to come up with solutions, not create problems, get them in here. You've got until you leave this afternoon--and it'd better be from a neighbourhood meeting, because the question will be asked, of the representative and of the people in the neighbourhood." He'd turned to the council that was currently in session and looking at the windmill proposal from Carl. "Anyone object?"_

No one on the original town council had any problems with it, mostly because they were also tired of listening Gray moan about every single thing that Johnson tried to do. It didn't really surprise anyone that Gray hadn't managed to make it onto the council as his own neighbourhood's representative., not just because he wouldn't be present for the initial meeting or meetings. While Jonah had been diplomatic enough not to laugh in the man's face about it, he couldn't help the tiny smirk he got watching Gray huff and puff leave for Topeka with a little black rain cloud hovering over his head. No few of the new councilmen were those neighbourhood appointed people who had attended the meeting with Mayor Green to hear the inventory of the train supplies.

Jonah was asking for any plastic containers, clean, of course, that were large enough to hold a few dozen gallons of gasoline. What he got instead was a surprise.

"Been thinkin' 'bout those tankers," Andrew Perkins said, rubbing his chin. "Got to thinkin' about our old railroad yard--never was worth spit, but it was busy during the Wars and in the fifties--and I recollect that there's some old hand-cars out there. Pushers and pullers. We get those checked over, greased up, and maybe we can just bring those cars into the railyard."

"Sounds good," replied one of the men who'd worked steadily on the hauling, "but how do we get those cars off the tracks? We got too many empties and a downed engine in front of those tankers."

"Point. A point," Perkins conceded. "If someone can figure that part out in the next day or so, it'd be soon enough. The handcars need to be checked over anyway."

"Who remembered those old handcars, Perk?" asked Jenny Bailey, Mary's grandmother. "I'd forgotten them, myself, and my daddy worked on the railroad for thirty years."

"Well," Perkins said, grinning, "it was one of the neighbourhood kids. He'd done some reading about the railroad in history class and enjoyed it so much that he kept on lookin'. Got his parents to start gettin' him a model train set, and researched everything he could get his hands on." The smiles around the room made things a little less desperate. "Turns out he's workin' on the mechanical side of things with his schoolin' now," Perkins nodded to Miss Maddie, "and he wanted me to ask when the practical applications classes started. He's been with the mechanical and parts scavenging team for the past few days."

"Still need everything we can dredge up," Maddie said, "but the applications lessons will begin probably next week." She looked over at Jonah. "Your shop and hands ready for lessons?"

"We're close. By the time you're ready to send them over, we'll have the shop rules worked out." Jonah was hammering out the duties and requirements with Aylah, since none of his men were willing to babysit. Aylah wasn't entirely thrilled with the idea, but had reluctantly acquiesced within an hour of meeting Lisinski and finding out about Maddie's request to have Jonah's shop as their center of mechanical work and training, at least until other arrangements could be made. Jonah had the largest garage and machine tool inventory in Jericho, since he and his employees performed all maintenance on his fleet of trucks. Since it was Miss Maddie's idea, Aylah had agreed more quickly than if it had been anyone else's.

_Miss Maddie's request had gone against his immediate reaction of maintaining his privacy and control of his territory, but after thinking about it for a minute, he decided it could be a lot worse. Despite the practicality and ability found in farming areas, he did have the most experience man-for-man, and he had the only mechanical-electrical engineer in town. He did, however, reserve the rights to boot anyone from the premises for any reason and to establish the rules as he saw fit. Dr. Mary Magdalene Clarind had taken a long minute to agree, but finally had nodded, including the warning, "There will probably be some girls in that class, Jonah Enoch. You get rules in place for them, too. Some of those young ones you've got out there aren't as disciplined as they'll need to be."_

"_Understood, Miss Maddie," he'd replied, stifling a groan. How had he forgotten that? Farm and ranch girls did anything that needed to be done, despite the popular fiction of men's work and women's work being divided in the country. Miss Maddie hadn't been a women's rights activist in the traditional sense, or even a civil rights activist, but she made sure her history students knew the difference between the fictional frontier and the real one. And the real one was much, much less forgiving of prejudice than the movies like to make it seem. _

_The ability to survive in a seemingly friendly environment, not a real sense of fair play, was the reason the Clarind family had become one of the most respected families in Jericho and had been true equals with any and everyone in town. The Clarinds, named for the widow who'd decided she hated her late husband's plantation in Missouri and the inherent injustice of slavery as much as she missed the frontier home she'd grown up in, had come West before the Civil War. Jericho had been comprised of three ranches and assorted cowhands, a tiny brothel, three bars, and a general goods store. The Clarinds, under Miss Clarinda St. Xavier's direction, created a prosperous farm/ranch combination that had made them a force to be reckoned with. Once established, they'd never forced anything. They'd simply stated their piece and waited for the decisions. When their words had been heeded, things had gone well. When they hadn't, nearly everyone in the town had suffered. It hadn't taken long for the unspoken rules to be put into place: The Greens are leaders, strong and steady, but the Clarinds know the land and stock like no others. Over time, that had evolved into "Listen to the Greens--they know what they're doing. Whatever you do, don't ignore the Clarinds' advice--you'll regret it."_

Jonah had heeded Miss Maddie's advice about the schoolkids and the rules. He remembered his conversation with Miss Maddie late the night of the town meeting and the one he'd had with Aylah early the next morning.

"_I don't like children, Jonah. I'm not interested in babysitting a bunch of numbskulled, hormonally-charged drama-queens in my shop," she'd snapped at him, eyes promising her reaction was mild compared to what she wanted to do and say._

"_Your shop?" Jonah asked, raising an eyebrow. "You may live here, you are always welcome, but you don't own anything here except yourself and the clothes you had on your back when you walked in." He flicked the collar of the shirt she was wearing--one of his. He watched as her eyes narrowed. Aylah knew if she pushed him on this he would do something that hurt them both. Cursing herself, she gave ground._

"_Fine," she snapped. "They get to show up. They do _not_ get babied. If one of them does something stupid and mangles his hand or cuts off his leg or sets himself on fire, do not blame me." Aylah turned and stomped off, leaving Jonah no chance to tell her that Heather was expected any minute. Jonah had let her go, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place to begin the argument that was lurking on the horizon._

_When Heather and Jake had arrived, Jake had greeted her with, "Silence." _

_She'd nodded and continued working at her drafting table. Jonah had stepped in then, noting that Jake had called her by a nickname she'd never mentioned to him._

"_Aylah, this is Jake Green and Heather Lisinski," he said, purposefully addressing his unruly roommate first. He spoke using the same tone Miss Maddie had used on him when he was being particularly boneheaded in her class. It was effective. "Jake and Heather, Aylah Wilson." When no one said anything, he'd added a sarcastic, "It is customary to at least exchange handshakes or nods." Then, in a harder tone, "Aylah."_

_Grey eyes shot Jonah a dirty look before they turned to Jake and Heather. "Morning, Jake. Heather. I was working on the windmill for the clinic. I think I have a solution, but it's not a pretty one." It was an invitation that Heather, after spending years with "the geeky group" had learned to recognize. She stepped over to the table and looked at the plans._

"_There's a more efficient design for in-town," she commented, "but the bones look good. Have you considered how to regulate the voltage output?"_

"_Mm. Here," Aylah pointed to a section of the design. "This is the quick and dirty route. We don't technically need a governor on here if we direct-tie it and use the existing meter. We can tweak and perfect later, after we've got everything in place, but if we don't get that building set for a loss of fuel…" She let the sentence trail off and watched as Heather nodded._

"_Exactly." Heather looked at the height of the building and the blades Aylah had chosen. "You know, if we use an existing 'pinwheel' design from an old water-pump 'mill, we could retain the majority of the efficiency without having to create it." She picked up a pencil and sketched a quick illustration. "Ordinarily, this design, she tapped Aylah's work, "is better for the country, but since this is the 2nd tallest building in the town and the wind is so constant..."_

_Jonah and Jake stared at the two women as their conversation turned immediately technical. Jake looked over at Jonah with an expression conveying his surprise and confusion. Jonah just shrugged and jerked his head to the side, indicating the younger man should follow him. They'd spent the next hour discussing the possibilities of using the planes at the airfield to create a ferry-and-communication network with Hayes or Rogue River. _

_When Jake dropped back by to see how Heather was doing and tell her he was heading to see his father about establishing a duster's network, the men had found Aylah and Heather in a deep discussion about the students who would be arriving in the near future. That night, Aylah told Jonah that Heather agreed to teach the basics to the ones who didn't know much or have much practical experience, Aylah agreed to take the more advanced group. Both women had agreed that the best approach to shop safety was the most brutal one--if you don't listen and you get hurt, that's your own damned fault. If you did pay attention and it was an accident, be more careful next time._

*****

Little did Jonah know that Aylah and Heather had debated the tanker car problem earlier in the day and had created their own solution. After driving out there to fill up the cars that they were using to pull in tools from town, they had looked over the remnants of the train and sighed about the fuel that was just sitting there, waiting to be used. Included in their discussion was the layout of the Transport offices, given the changes in location for no few townsmen.

The two regular mechanics in Jericho and a few other repairmen had agreed to move out to Quaker Transport for the duration, or until the exact division of tools and labour could be determined. The farrier, who was also the town's last blacksmith, was an older man with many years behind him. He had elected to stay in his shop off of Elm Avenue instead of moving to Jonah's. He knew where the horses were, and everyone else in town knew where to find him. Besides, he'd pointed out the time it would take to transport and set up his fires and anvils would be better spent with those who had more mobile equipment. He did ask that they send any metals, raw or wrought, to him, since he could always resmelt the metal and get a usable product from it.

The request for any metals they came across got the two women thinking as they siphoned gas from the unleaded tank.

"Too bad Barkly doesn't have this metal," Heather had said, thinking how happy the smith would be.

"True. We could use some sheet metal like this for other things, too. The bearings and rods are good, and that engine is only a little bit beat up. The gears and all will work just fine, and the wiring is worth its over a hundred times its weight in food." Aylah added. They stared at the empty cars for a long time.

"Aylah?" Heather asked, still staring at the train. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking cutting torches and the heavy flatbed." Aylah turned to see Heather's reaction.

"Me, too." Heather looked over at Aylah and her grin grew wider. "I've never taken a train apart before."

"Stick with me, kid," Aylah replied, grinning at her in return. "I'll give you lots of new things to destroy and repurpose." They were both close to laughing by then.

"Starting with this train," they chorused. That was the instant that Heather and Aylah actually decided they could be friends. It had taken them less than an hour to get the torches, fuel tanks, and men out there to begin work. They decided to let the men take over piecing out the boxcars while they tackled the engine itself. When they looked back on it, they agreed that ripping apart that engine was some of the most fun they'd had in their lives, even if figuring out how to get the heavy steel cowling out of the way had been tougher than expected.

*****

Back at the town council, Jonah listened and contributed to the various proposals and debates. When Johnston reached the security question, Jonah finally said something that Gray's staunchest supporter, Mitzi Tredaway, could not let pass. Gray had not yet returned from Topeka area while Jonah had been busy with the trains and the highways, which was probably good for Gray. The relationship between Gray and Jonah had been difficult at first, but had become downright antagonistic. over the past five years It was safe to say that this meeting would not engender any goodwill between the men., even by report. It certainly wouldn't endear Jonah to Mitzi, but then again, she was like Gray's parrot to begin with.

Johnston dreaded Mitzi's loud mouth and Jonah's impatience with idiocy. He was still sick, but he was going into the office each day. This particular day he'd gone in just before the meeting and, to humour Gail, had stayed home during the day. People had come by to see him, of course, but he'd been resting. He'd managed to avoid the antibiotics April had foisted onto him, too. Given the way Gail seemed to be omniscient when it came to men who weren't doing what she thought they should, he figured he'd catch hell for it when he got home. Still, he knew someone had to referee between these two, and he was the one who'd been elected. Literally.

"We need to create a security force for Jericho beyond the sheriff's office. Ordinary people who'll come when the call is issued." Jonah stood up straight as all eyes turned toward him. "It's only been a few days, but I've kept sending out short patrols. Violence is already worse, and it's not going to stay away from here forever. The bypass helps us stay off the radar for most groups, but some of them are going to get here. When they do, what will we have to defend ourselves?"

"Oh, so now you want stormtroopers for Jericho? Your own private little army, answerable only to you? Johnston, I more than one person told you he wouldn't do anything without an eye to his own power in town! Why didn't you shut him down when I Gray told you to?" Mitzi's voice rose and his tone became more shrill. She was an hysteric, even moreso than Gray, and everyone was learning that the hard way.

Johnston ground his teeth and wished Mitzi were a man and thus someone he could punch. As it was, he wished she were Gray, since punching Gray the day the men went out had been downright therapeutic. Right now, he'd be willing to break the ass's jaw. He'd probably manage to get rid of this damned cold if he could do that. A glance at Jonah showed him that, despite the man's own considerable temper, Jonah wasn't about to go off half-cocked. Neither was Johnston--physically or verbally. They both had too much discipline. In the end, it wasn't Johnston that spoke.

"Well, I can see where you might get that idea, Mitzi," Titus Clarind spoke, his words coming slow and clear into the prolonged silence. His usual slow drawl was replaced by the clear, educated voice that he rarely used, preferring the lazy sounds of his ancestor's Southern accents. "You didn't know these men in their younger days. Now, it's true that when you came in from Denver a few years back you got to know about Jonah then, but those of us who've lived here longer can remember a time that Jonah was more like he is today, in these darker times. He's been a good friend to those around here, and a help to us all. Without him, our supplies would be considerably lower and we'd have more problems about who gets what. We would already be looking at rationing everything from food to medical supplies to winter clothes."

Titus stared at the indignant woman and continued gently chiding her, his voice taking on a bit of that homespun drawl now. "Ever'one has a little devil in him. Sometimes that devil gets out more than it should. When times come bad, it matters whether the man follows his devils or his raisin'. No one here can fault Jonah's raisin'; yes, and we can even be glad of his devils, too, since that's what's kept him in a position to turn to us instead of stayin' on the path he was on." Titus turned to Jimmy and Bill. "Deputies, would you please see this lady out? Brother Prowse got a point we need to considah, and we don't need unmannahly int'rruptions in doin' so."

Jonah felt the fight go out of him as Titus spoke his first words. He tensed once or twice when the older man continued speaking about his less-than-stellar past, watching as heads nodded around the room. He still had a long way to go to make up for his sins--if he could. If he really wanted to, and he wasn't entirely sure he did. But between the support he'd just gotten from Titus, including the address he had heard given to his father but not to himself, and the rage that had been in Johnston's eyes, he knew he could at least come home. Surprising as it was, Jonah discovered that all the years after Vietnam and moving from one group of outlaws to another what he'd really wanted was to come home to Jericho and be welcomed again. Maybe he would've been, but after his reception getting off the ship here in the States at the end of his tour in Vietnam, his already nasty attitude had just gotten worse. He'd turned, as Titus said, to his devils, and those devils had gotten a hard hold on him.

Finally, after Mitzi Treadaway was gone from the room and the silence had held to the breaking point, Johnston was able to unlock his jaw and speak.

"Tradition in the West has always held room for a man or woman who's walked the wrong road to change and head down the a better path, just as a man who's walked the right paths can go to the bad. Some call it redemption, but I've always heard it was a man's turn. We can't walk away from that tradition now. Jonah's turned back from where he was." Johnston paused to choke down a coughing fit, taking the moment to begin walking toward the man in question, the soft interruptions in his breathing making it clear that he wasn't grandstanding as much as biding his time before he could finish speaking. His voice was raspy but sure as he continued. "I, for one, am glad to see it. Only question I have is," he said as finished his walk over to Jonah and clapped his hand onto the leather-clad shoulder, "what took you so damned long, Jo?"

Jonah managed to look around the room, his throat oddly uncooperative. He had to clear it before he could speak.

"Guess Miss Maddie didn't get after me quick enough," he said, desperate to lighten the mood. Some of the younger people looked shocked that he would say such a thing about the sweet old lady, but everyone who'd known Miss Maddie in school--or had known of her--dissolved into chuckles. Jonah clapped Johnston on the shoulder in return, creating a picture that had been seen many times in Jericho between friends. He managed to choke out one word in a muted whisper, something he'd nearly forgotten about during his hell-raising years. "John."

Jonah wasn't good at emotional displays, but he believed, hoped, prayed Johnston would hear what he needed to say in that one simple syllable. Was this old friendship too badly broken to repair? It'd never be the exact same--they'd both done too much living for that--but maybe they could find a way to...to... Words failed him even in his thoughts. Those weren't tears in his eyes, just the pain from the lights. The lie was no comfort to him as he turned his gaze to the room and waited for Miss Maddie to answer him.

Johnston felt Jonah return the old gesture of affection and heard the quiet, "John." Johnston squeezed his old friend's shoulder in reply, hoping he hadn't just made the worst mistake of his life. Was thirty-six years of opposition too much to fix what had been broken? He'd get the chance to find out. Damn, but it had been too long.

"Wanted to, honey," she called back, tears of joy and pride standing in her eyes, "but you finally managed to run faster than me." The tears didn't fall, but she was finally seeing what she'd known was in Jonah all along. And now the others could see it, too. Her brother, Titus, knew what she had known ever since Jonah had brought Aylah to their farm and told them what had happened to her. She knew then that he could return to the right path when he'd left that broken girl in their care, but it would take something drastic to make it happen. Finding something more drastic than nuclear bombs going off in American cities would be tough. This was the moment. She'd been right.

The older generations, oblivious to the intense emotions in Johnston, Jonah, and Miss Maddie, laughed as they could vividly recall Miss Maddie chasing down any wayward youth--and catching even the football and soccer players. Only time and age had made her slow down a bit, but, combined with a leg injury from a riding accident, the three meant she'd finally had to succumb to the fact that she may be tougher than ever, but she wasn't as young as she used to be.

After a moment of much-needed levity, the discussion returned to the question of security, and Jonah outlined the need for some sort of group to help keep Jericho safe from those who would try to take advantage of her, available methods of transportation for roads and off-road, and the limits those who became a part of this group would have to abide by. The need to find a new sheriff was also addressed, but tabled for a later date.

By the end of the meeting, it was determined that veterans would be asked to step in to at least train those who signed up, and that the ones who wanted to join had to be at least fifteen. On a farm or ranch, fifteen was old enough to be considered a full hand, and a hand would fight for his home--the brand, as it was called among ranchers.

Johnston carried the news home to Gail, who chided him for being late, but applauded his defense of Jonah. Johnston knew she still held reservations about the man, but she was willing to look forward instead of backward, and that was as much as he could ask of her.

*****

Jonah couldn't help but smile as he started his car to head home after the meeting. No, he wasn't the most admired person in town, and he certainly wasn't what anyone could call loved by the general populace, but word would get around. He looked around the familiar streets and the dark figures heading home, huddled against the cold wind.

There was Davey's. Over there the CyberJolt Café, which had been The Pizza Garden, and before that Ace's Wild. That spot near the benches was where he and Johnston had fought over some girl in high school--funny that he couldn't even remember what she had looked like. He did remember that Johnston had always had a vicious left hook and breaking Johnston's nose that night. It had been a fair fight, and they'd ended up down by the bridge, looking at the stars and occasionally griping about their injuries. Ice, antiseptic, and bandages had been provided by Mayor Green's secretary. The price had been a scolding, but she'd known both boys since they were in diapers, so they took it without comment.

Over on the corner of Main and Crossing Creek Road he'd run Mayor Green's car into Melissa Culver's fruit stand. It was Gracie Lee's store now, but then it had been the local chain store. He'd been fifteen and had had to pay for damages and fix what he could. As he recalled, Johnston had helped him then, supposedly because it was half Johnston's fault. Johnston had provided the keys to the car, which had been Mayor Eric Jacob Green's new Plymouth, and the other half of the bet, namely that Jonah couldn't drive the Plymouth through town without shifting gears more than twice. Jonah knew that Johnston had agreed to the penance because Melissa's daughter was a looker. Turned out that the girl had been dating a college boy, so he and Johnston had been left to speculate which one she would have picked while they drowned their sorrows in a bottle of rotgut.

This felt like the Jericho he knew, the way it had been so long ago. The drive was smooth and pleasant. He passed the town limits and headed over the bridge, his heart oddly light after everything that had been said and done, little of which had lessened his own responsibilities.

Home. It had a nice ring to it.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	10. The Days After: 8 cont 1

**By:** TarnishedArmour

**Warning:** References to abuse. Not explicit.

**A/N:** Half-remembered technical specs are used here and there.

**Time frame:** Bombs + 8(ish), flashbacks for more than one character.

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

As Aylah worked on disassembling the locomotive engine, she thought about the Jake Green. She was sure that the darkness that seemed to engulf him now hadn't been there when they were in elementary school together. She worked another section of the cowling off the car, grateful it was the covering and not load-bearing, and thought back to the day she'd first been called Silence.

_Aylah sat alone at the detention table. Once again, she hadn't done her work for the day. She hadn't misbehaved or caused any trouble, but she hadn't answered the questions about the silent reading story or coloured the hidden picture math problems sheet. She could do the math, a little, but she didn't dare let anyone know she couldn't read. She was in the third grade--she was supposed to know how by now._

_Then, while she sat there, no lunch and no friends, the dark-haired boy who always finished his math first was escorted to the detention table. Mrs. Gromlin had addressed the boy as Jake and told him that he would be sitting there at the table for a week for lunch and both recesses. She didn't do more than look at Aylah with that "what am I going to do with you, child," look and walk back to keep an eye on the rest of the kids._

_It was the rule of the detention table that the children there did not talk. They were allowed to eat lunch. If they simply could not keep still, they could play Othello, a game that required spatial thinking skills and careful planning, but nothing else was permitted. Ever. Given that Jake Green had just earned his first lunch detention ever, something that would become common over the next few years, and that Aylah never spoke to anyone, the teacher wasn't worried about any out-of-bounds talking._

_Jake had been staring down at the table, obviously upset that his father had been called and he'd have lunch detention for the week. No one bothered to call Aylah's house anymore about lunch detention. Aylah had simply watched him sit down, then turned back to her usual lunchtime occupation--watching the time tick by too quickly. Every second that took her closer to going home was unwelcome. And today she had unwanted company, too. She hoped his parents wouldn't beat him for getting in trouble, but from the way he was acting, he was obviously afraid they would._

_Solitude was her best companion. Enduring the company of others was always a difficulty for her, since she knew only too well what others could do. _

"_Psst," Jake had whispered. "Wanna play?"_

_The noise of the fifty kids in the lunchroom had easily obscured the hissed question. Aylah stared at him. No one had asked her if she wanted to play the only game available to her, and several times other kids had been at the table. They'd moved far away from her, too. Seemed like Jake wasn't afraid of the class freak._

_Aylah shrugged. She couldn't bring herself to speak. Her throat hurt too much from her stepfather's idea of fun. Jake took that as a yes and set up the board. Jake read the rules to her in a quiet whisper, as if knowing that she wouldn't read them herself. The complete lack of work wasn't a secret--everyone knew Aylah didn't do her work, and she hadn't since kindergarten. No one really remembered her name, no one remarked upon her frequent absences, not since her mother had come and talked to the principal about her recurring bouts of asthma. She'd never had an asthma attack in her life. When she stayed home, it was because her face was too badly bruised to go to school, since those bruises couldn't be hidden._

_He put the first four pieces down, then asked her to choose her side. Aylah chose black, the reactive side. Jake went first. He put down his white piece, flipped the captured token to show white, and waited. Aylah placed a piece, then flipped the token she took to show black. They played five games during that lunch, both messing up so badly the game was hardly recognizable. But it was something to do, and nobody was yelling at them. Over the next week, they figured out how to play the game. At the end of the week, he'd whispered, "G'Bye, Silence." And so she'd gotten her name. _

_When Jake got in trouble again, this time for sneaking into the janitor's closet to get something--he never had said what--they played again. That week, Jake offered her half of his peanut butter sandwich. She took it, shyly, carefully watching to see if he meant it. The concerned look in his eyes as he pushed the sandwich to her made her believe that he really didn't want to tease her with the food. She ate it quickly, in small, neat bites, then set up the Othello board, an offering to continue their games. Jake had smiled, and they'd played a fair game, but they both missed some flips that were supposed to be made._

_During the next four years, Jake had become her lunch partner, sometimes because he was in trouble, sometimes because he just wanted to be left alone during lunch. He got sick of Stanley sometimes, and Emily was just a pain. She was cute, but the girl never stopped talking. It didn't help that Eric, his older brother by four years, was now in his lunch classes, either. But Silence never seemed to want to talk or ask questions or compare him to the golden, perfect Eric._

_One afternoon, she overheard Stanley, the class goofball, asking Jake why he sat with "that weird girl." Jake had just shaken his head and told Stanley, "Leave Silence alone. She's nice." She'd gone off then, wondering why Jake would bother to say anything good about her. Apparently, he didn't know how horrible she really was. _

Aylah pulled good wires out of the exposed section and coiled them while she considered the gears, her mind flashing from those early days to another, when they had been in seventh grade.

_Jake and Aylah were at the lunch detention table. Again. Jake had given her half of his lunch. Again. They were playing Othello. Again. And they finished in a tie. Again. It had become a comfortable lunch routine between them over the past four years, but Aylah's life had become increasingly worse at home. Even school wasn't a safe haven any longer, since her stepfather insisted upon picking her up every day. Where he took her and what he did with her in the hours after school, no one knew. Not even her mother._

_Something in the way her stepfather treated her now told Aylah she needed to get away from here, but she was too scared to run. Today, she and Jake had tied seven times before the bell for the end of lunch. He put away the board as she carefully wiped off the table. Then, as the students and teachers filed out, ignoring the one troublemaker and the one who'd slowly become invisible, Aylah had done something strange. She touched Jake's hand. Jake's head snapped up and he stared at her, shocked. In four years, they'd never touch hands or bumped into each other or even looked at each other for very long. They'd had silent lunches and Othello. _

_She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Jake," she'd whispered, her voice rough from her stepfather's abuse and the screaming she'd done when he'd beaten her with the buckle-end of his belt afterward. Then he'd done it to her again, and she couldn't talk normally. Her throat was bruised inside, but that wasn't enough for that man. So he'd made it an agony for her to sit, too. When she looked up, she saw her stepfather watching her. He'd come to pick her up early, for a doctor's appointment that she knew she didn't really have. From the look in his eyes, she dreaded the time to come. She'd left with her stepfather, letting Jake find his own way back to class. It was the last time she'd seen him. She'd been fourteen and Jake, thirteen._

_That afternoon, the ride to the cabin had been filled with accusations of whoring around, that she was a slut, like her mother. That she was worth nothing but what she had between her legs--and that wasn't enough to earn her room and board anymore. She'd ruined his plans for her. That afternoon, her stepfather had nearly killed her. He'd left her for a while, unconscious and bleeding on the floor next to the bed. It was after dark, and he wouldn't be back until her mother was in bed and asleep. That was the routine. If her mother knew what he was doing, she didn't seem to care. Her mother was in love with the monster. From the time she'd been three, Aylah had learned that a woman's love for a man was evil. Horrible. She wanted nothing to do with it. She knew the cost too well._

_Disobedient and desperate, she'd dragged her broken body to her clothes. He never bothered to take those, since he knew he she wouldn't disobey him. But this time, the threats of further violence hadn't worked. She pulled the clothing on over her open wounds, not caring that she was bleeding through the thin material. Her shoes went on her feet without socks, and oh, they hurt. He'd whipped her feet today, used his cigarettes to burn her heels. Stumbling and falling from the agony in her feet, she managed an uneven, lurching crawl through the woods and fields to the highway. _

_When the headlights had picked her out, she knew that it was him. Back. And he'd kill her. She welcomed the thought of death. At least then the pain would end. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut from punches he'd given her. Her body ached like it never had before. She let her eyes finish closing and waited for him to destroy the last thing she had._

_Instead, she heard a man's voice, rough and low, asking what had happened. She couldn't even cough in reply. Her voice was gone. He picked her up carefully, and before she blacked out from the agony of his hands on her back, she smelled the most wonderful scent in the world. It was a combination of leather, sweat, engine grease and motor oil, and an aftershave she later learned was called British Leather. The voice drifted into her hazed return to consciousness, soft and gravelly. Whoever this man was, she hoped he wasn't like her stepfather, but she knew he probably was._

Heather and Aylah only stopped working on the engine when even the moonlight was gone. By then, the men had figured out how to take the boxcars apart without having to cut sheets from the sides first. The ends were generally welded, a few of the specialty cars having rivets instead, and the rooves of the cars were attached to the first side they tipped off the train. Because most of the cars were single-sheet, lightweight steel in sheets from 60-80 feet in length, depending upon the age of the car, it wasn't hard to tip the sheets out to lie on either side of the tracks. After the sides and roof were off, it was simplicity itself to pop the floor up and to one side. The axles were held in place in by the weight of the car. Even though the axles were incredibly heavy steel composites, they weren't held in place by anything more than gravity. The gearboxes and big wheels were pushed off onto the grass on either side of the tracks, and they moved to the next car.

The men had finished over forty cars in the last ten hours, and the last one was about to have its wheels tipped off the tracks before they called it a night. Headlights intruded on Aylah's vision, and she felt that odd stab of hope and terror again. If it hadn't been for the memories, she'd've simply accepted that someone was coming and it wasn't--couldn't be--her stepfather. Being back in Jericho, being part of the town again, had done a number on her confidence. Jonah had taught her to hide any fear, but she still felt it. She closed her eyes and didn't see Heather waving to the man who stepped out of the car and put his hands on his hips, annoyed that he'd had to track his men down after he'd gotten out of the meeting.

*****

After such a pleasant end to what could've become a bout of accusations and recriminations, Jonah had been more than a bit annoyed that his men were gone, leaving Stevie to mind the office. Calmly, he'd questioned the man, knowing that his anger at something Stevie hadn't done would only confuse the man. Had Stevie been a part of this madness, he'd've paid the price. Since he'd only been ordered by the others to stay put and monitor the radios, Jonah saved his irritation for those who deserved it.

He stalked over to where Aylah was standing, ignoring him. He started to snap at her, but caught the expression on her face. That look hadn't been there in years, and he hated seeing it now. Jonah bit his tongue and waited for her to acknowledge something outside of her own mind. He saw her nostrils flare and her shoulders relax, just as Heather bounced over to him like a puppy.

"We figured out how to move the train, Jonah!" the perky brunette said, her voice proclaiming the exhaustion she felt. "And we get the added benefit of metal that can be used, oh, dozens of ways--and that's without modification!"

Jonah nodded, wondering which one of the two women had come up with this bright idea. He moved closer to Aylah, and finally asked, "And what if we could get the engine back in service?"

He was surprised when Aylah slid her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, inhaling that comforting scent again. She hadn't done that in years, either. She wasn't the one who replied, even though Jonah had specifically asked her the question.

"Not possible," Heather said. "We took the time to look it over, and, even if the engine had zero problems, there's no way we could get the wheels back in place on the track. We just don't have the equipment, and, if we did, the ground here is too soft to support the weight of the crane that would have to be used. These tracks are on a heavy gravel bed, which is the only reason they're still useable. The car--" she cleared her throat and tried not to remember what the occupants of the sedan had left behind them. "The car was totalled, too. We had it hauled back to the garage to be stripped down there. Besides, what are we going to use boxcars for? If we need the extra storage for anything, we can put them back together, but the sheer size will limit where we can put them without cutting the steel." Heather shrugged, pretending she didn't see Aylah curling into Jonah. "But the good news is that we have all the parts, still, so we can rebuild the things if it turns out we need to."

Jonah sighed. Well, since Perkins and the kid from the neighbourhood were going to look over their tiny railyard and what was left of Jericho's trains anyway, if they decided they could use a car or two, they'd deal with it then. By then, though, they should have more people who knew how to weld properly, so none of his group would be needed there, unless it was to supervise construction.

"All right. It's late enough that we'll head back for the night." His arms were wrapped around Aylah, his cheek against her hair. He was very careful not to make their pose a big deal. "Did you drive?" he asked Heather.

"No, Aylah drove me in her car." Heather pointed to the car Jonah had given Aylah when she'd gone off to college. The 1972 Mustang was still in good shape. Of course, it was Aylah, so she'd kept the damned thing, even if it was old enough to be a moneypit. Why? Because he'd given it to her. There were no limits on what she could and couldn't do with it, but she'd keep it until the damned thing rusted away, because it had been his. Same as Jake had kept the RoadRunner. Well, until Jonah had retrieved it from where Jake had had to leave it after his wreck. Leon and Billy had fixed the windows and the rear quarterpanel, checked over and repaired everything that had been affected. Jonah was taking care of the engine, when he could.

Jonah took the keys from Aylah's coat pocket and handed them to Heather. "Here. Drive home and come back in the morning. You can bring a transport truck out here and start loading these parts you've got into crates. We'll sort it all later."

Heather took the keys and said goodnight, getting a nod from Jonah in return. Aylah mumbled something in reply, but neither one of them caught it. Before dealing with Aylah, he gave a sharp whistle to the men who were putting away their tools. Noah came over, noticing how Jonah held his woman. Eyes concerned, he flicked his gaze from Aylah to the boss. Jonah gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and told Noah where he wanted the sheet metal taken, how he wanted it organized. Noah nodded. Jonah knew he'd take care of it, relieved that the man didn't ask anything about Aylah.

Finally, Jonah and Aylah were left alone at the half-open engine and partially dismembered train.

"So what's this all about?" his voice gentle in spite of the words. He wasn't exactly good with words in situations like this.

"Got to remembering while I worked. Not easy being back, Jonah," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his collar and neck. Jonah didn't say anything for a long time. He just held her, remembering the run into the hospital in Rogue River. Something about where he found her had made him think taking her to Jericho's clinic wasn't a good idea. He'd been right. That instinct would raise again around her, and it wouldn't the first time he'd wished he'd been wrong about her.

_He'd been headed for a midnight meeting in Rogue River. One of his contacts said that the bypass was a sure thing, which meant he'd finally be able to get rid of some of the people he'd been keeping out of Jericho for the last fifteen years. Hell with the town--he didn't want these people anywhere near his wife, later expanded to include his kids. If people in Jericho thought he was scary, they'd obviously never met the people who'd been steadily taking over transport in Oklahoma and southern Kansas. They had a toehold in Wichita, but so long as Jericho stayed unimportant, his kids were safe. It was his work of the last several years to make Jericho seem like a town that wanted to be as big as Mayberry. Hell, if he could, he'd make Dogpatch, U.S.A. look like a booming metropolis when compared to his hometown. _

_What was that? He slowed, pulling to the shoulder of the road. What the--it was a person. Young. He threw himself out of the car and slid down the banking to the still form. Was he dead? He looked at the face, no help. The bruising was as bad as he'd ever seen. The slim neck and delicately flaring hips made him suck in his breath._

_Not a male--a girl. About Emily's age. Unconsciously, he said a quick prayer. Let it not be his baby girl. He checked her hair and shuddered with relief. No, this wasn't Em. He spoke, keeping his voice low and careful. She'd not responded at all. When he picked her up, he heard a tiny whimper, then nothing. He kept talking to her, didn't even know what he was saying, as he carried her to the car and put her in the passenger's seat. He was driving the RoadRunner, his favourite car for night trips to other towns. The power of the engine was enough that he could whip from here to Rogue River within an hour and a half. Taking the back roads, it was even shorter. _

_His hands felt wet. He looked down at his hands and cursed. The girl was a bloody mess. In seconds he was in the car and forgetting he'd ever heard the words speed and limit together. He talked to her constantly, tried to keep track of her pulse. Thin, unsteady--and she was lapsing in and out of consciousness. _

"_Hold on, kid. Hold on. We'll be there soon. Gotta stay with me kid. Stay with me." He repeated those words over and over, echoing what he'd told another soldier in Vietnam. Tonight, that episode seemed like yesterday, not nearly twenty years ago. His hands were covered in blood--he could smell it. Metallic, sticky-sweet, like rotting hamburger meat._

_He parked in the Ambulances Only zone and pulled her out of the car, ignoring the irate EMT who'd started yelling at him. Carrying her gently as he could, he got the door open and called for the doctors at the top of his voice. Men and women came running to see what had caused such a commotion._

"_Take her--she's hurt. Bad. Found her on the road." The urgency in his voice was not what they responded to. One look at the bloody mess in front of them got the night crew moving. One woman picked up a telephone and started calling the best trauma surgeon in the city. That man had been Doc Hallowell._

"_What's her name? Blood type?" the charge nurse belted out, ignoring the other shouts around the ER for different things._

"_Don't know. She's been in and out of consciousness. Lost a lot of blood--" his voice quit working. "Come on kid--wake up!" he rasped as her weight changed in his arms. He knew that feeling. She was giving up. "Don't give up kid…come on…"_

_A gurney was brought in and Jonah put her down on it, watching as she shifted in pain as her back touched the bedding. The nurse caught it also and told the others to help shift her onto her side. The silent girl actually moaned as they rolled her onto her dislocated shoulder. The other arm was more obviously injured, a compound fracture showing in the way her arm bent in three directions._

_Jonah forgot the blood on his hands and ran one hand through his hair. "Found her less than an hour ago. Roadside. No sign of a vehicle--looked like she crawled." His words had been directed to the room at large. He couldn't do this. He had to tell them he hadn't done it. The man shivered, an unfamiliar feeling snaking through him. He couldn't name it._

"_We'll take it from here. Please," another nurse said as they wheeled the girl into surgery, "let us take her. We can help her." He didn't respond, just tried to follow the girl. What was it he'd heard in Saigon? If you save someone's life, you're responsible for them forever? He hadn't understood it then, but it was starting to sink in. "Sir, you can't go back there. We need to help her." Hands on his chest, pushing him to a chair. "Tell us what you know. Please. It's the best thing you can do."_

_Something about the nurse's voice brought him back from wherever he had been to the emergency entrance. He nodded, then began to tell her what he'd noticed about the girl's injuries. He'd learned to assess injuries in prison, and in his secondary occupation as town badass._

"_Fists--caused the bruising on her face. Burns, old ones, on her arms. Wrists have rings cut into them--like handcuffs were too tight on her. Back is bloody, shirt is soaked through. Left arm is probably broken, but can't tell. It's hurt, for sure. Right arm definitely broken--at least two places. No bleeding from her head, except the cut on her cheek." He continued the catalogue of what he had seen in the car. _

"_Are you her parent? Guardian?" The voice was calm, but urgent._

"_No," he said, then he looked at the nurse for the first time, "but damned if whoever she was living with didn't do this to her." That was what he had felt. Sickness that one person could do this to a relative, to kin._

"_How can you know that?" the nurse asked, surprised at the accusation._

"_Scars on her arms--saw them, but didn't recognize them." He took the nurse's arm in his hand. "Listen to me. If anyone comes in here looking for her, her name is Sally Prowse. I am her uncle and legal guardian. No one, not even her doctor, is allowed to see her without me. _No one. _ Not even the nurses. Every time she has someone in that room, there will be _at least_ one other person there."_

_The nurse shook her head. "I can't guarantee that--"_

_Jonah's eyes grew hard. "Then let me put it this way--whatever happens to her here, happens to you. If someone--_anyone_--comes and hurts her, talks to her, takes her out of here--you answer for it. When I'm not here, she's you're responsibility. Are we clear?"_

_The nurse paled. She'd been working this unit for years, but she'd never seen or heard of anything this bad, not even from the worst wrecks. And to think that this had been done to her deliberately--she nodded. _

"_We're clear," she replied, her voice shaky._

"_Jeanette! We need O+, stat!" came the call from the ER. She started to move and Jonah released her arm. He'd call the office and tell them he'd be gone for a few days. Stevens wasn't an idiot, neither was Cale. They'd manage to get things done at the mine without him. Besides, he'd already taken what he'd needed for graft for the month. Between the bypass and the guys from out of town looking for better things, the tiny bit he had for them would be all he needed to get rid of them for good._

_Another nurse came in and offered him the use of the ER shower and a change of clothes, hospital scrubs. That's when he looked down and saw the blood all over him. He shuddered and accepted it. Then, just before he showered and changed, he called his contact, told him they'd meet in the morning at the hospital cafeteria He spent the longest night in recent memory waiting in the chair. _

_The next morning after his meeting, he found out the extent of her bleeding and non-bleeding injuries. The doctors and nurses also looked a bit green under their exhaustion. After he was told by a stuttering, pale nurse what else the man or even men had done to her, he went into the men's room and threw up everything he'd managed to choke down at his breakfast meeting._

_He ached for the girl, a sympathetic reaction he'd not had in ages, but the one thought that kept him going was simple: Thank God it wasn't Emily._

_She'd been able to tell them her name three days after he'd found her. Her eyes were still bandaged, her left arm was in a cast, her right in a sling, her face still horribly swelled. She was on her back on the type of mattress they used for burn patients, to allow as little contact as possible to reach her back and help her heal. Every time he came in to see her, he noticed that she seemed to recognize him before he even spoke. It wasn't until she finally was able to speak and tell her name that he realized how. His scent. Her nose twitched a bit when she heard the door to her room open. When it was Jonah, she seemed to relax and would even touch his hand, something he found remarkable after what she'd endured. _

_Jonah had spent a lot of his time in Rogue River over the next few months. Somehow, he'd managed to pay the medical bills, get himself named as her guardian ad litem despite his record, and then take her to someone he knew would help her heal. If she could._

_Two weeks after learning her name, she was well enough to sit up and visit with him when he came by. What had become an ordinary afternoon included Jonah stopping in to see her before going home, if he could, or calling her, if he couldn't. He'd managed to change his schedule so that he could be in Rogue River more often. This ordinary Thursday had been the first time he'd been by in three days, and he walked into the room to see her pushing her dinner around on her plate and crying._

"_What's wrong, kid?" he asked, knowing she wasn't comfortable with being called Aylah yet. She'd asked him not to call her by her name right now, and he'd agreed. So he called her kid. It worked for both of them. _

"_The nurses were checking the last wounds on my back today. I can't feel them, I'm on so many pills…" she sniffled, then continued. "I don't know how healed I really am, and they told me I was healing up nicely. That I'd be back to my pretty self in no time." Wounded eyes looked up at Jonah. "I'm not pretty, Jonah. I can't be with all these scars. I know all of the marks, and I know better. She said the scars weren't bad on my back, but I know better. I know. If they weren't bad, I'd be healed by now, and they're still changing the dressings. The doctor just took some stitches out yesterday…" Her voice, stronger and richer now that she wasn't being used that way, too, broke on the last word and the tears fell down. He watched as she cried as she'd endured the pain in the car--silently._

"_I'll get one of them to come in and tell you the truth, kid, if you want," he offered. "I'll even stay for it."_

"_I…I'd rather have you tell me." She didn't look at him, just pushed the food around with her fork and let the tears fall. "You haven't lied to me yet."_

_Even when it hurt her to hear it, and him to tell it, he'd told her the truth. The last time he'd been there, the doctors had been worried about telling her the consequences of the abuse she'd suffered, so they'd told Jonah. Fifteen minutes and three cigarettes later, a futile effort to calm down some, he'd walked into her room and told her the truth. She couldn't have children, the damage was too extensive. If she ever did try to have a child, chances were she'd miscarry within the first two months. She'd been so surprised that she'd answered him back just as honestly. She never wanted children._

"_Okay, kid. If you really want to know, I'll tell you. But you're going to eat first," he said, his voice gentlely insistent. "You may not like it, but you need it to heal." Her response had been a sigh, then she ate most of what had been brought to her. Afterward, she'd leaned forward as far as she could and asked Jonah to check her scars and tell her the truth. _

"_No, kid," he said softly, "you're right. You'll never be conventionally pretty. These are going to be bad, and they may never fade. Especially this one," he brushed the healed skin to one side of the worst wound. She'd gotten him to help her stand, and he'd checked the rest of her aft side. "Same for the rest." She nodded, and got back into her bed._

"_I knew it. I know better than to believe I could be beautiful." Her voice was calm, but her eyes showed that the damage she'd endured physically had also been engraved on her mind._

"_Would you call me handsome?" he asked, not fishing for a compliment, but to get her out of this funk. "Honestly?"_

_She looked at him, carefully considering the question. "No, not in the movie-star ways. But…you're strong. You don't have to be handsome."_

_Jonah smiled. He hadn't had to lead her after all. "My point, kid, is that pretty people tend to fall apart when something happens that threatens the secure place they've made with that physical beauty. I've seen it more than once. I married a pretty woman, but she wasn't strong enough to stay by me when everything went bad." The golden band on his left hand had stayed there all these years. He wasn't sure he could take it off, no matter how tainted that relationship had become. He loved Sylvia. A golden ring was all he had left of his marriage. He looked at her. "Here's the difference between you and the pretty little things that everyone admires: You are a survivor. You can endure. You are strong." He smiled. _

"_Strong girls aren't beautiful," she said, thinking of the girls she'd heard everyone talking about. They were all lovely, slender little things, with flaring hips and wild hair. They were nothing like her. _

_Jonah shook his head. "Strength is the only beauty, Aylah. Strength and will. Remember that and ignore anyone who says otherwise."_

After a long while standing together, Aylah pulled back from his arms. They didn't have to speak to understand that it was time for them to return home, to Jonah's home. Even though they went to bed, even talked about the various things that had occurred during the day, Jonah's thought kept returning to those days when he'd been her only source of hope.

Given the grim circumstances they were facing, he hoped that the years since then had given her the strength to carry on without him. As it was, tonight's reaction wasn't reassuring.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	11. The Days After: 9

**Warnings:** A bit of strong language

**A/N: **Fiction is nice…it means I get to make some things up as I go. :-) This includes that Jonah's business is on the north side of Jericho.

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Jonah got a message to Johnston that he needed to meet with him about some of the things stashed at the transport office. When Johnston arrived, it was close to lunchtime, and Jonah was concerned about the man's health. Johnston had had Jake drop him off on the way to the airfield.

"We'll make this quick," Jonah said, "but you're probably going to be irritated about some of this."

"Oh, hell, Jonah. What have you done now?" Johnston asked, sitting down across from Jonah in the jumbled office. Jonah ignored the gripe.

"Here's the inventory list for what we've got here. I've put certain things off limits to the guys, for good reason." He handed the record book to the mayor and waited.

"Uh-huh…okay…that's fine--what the…" Johnston's head snapped up and he stared at Jonah.

"Keep reading," was all Jonah said, knowing that he hadn't gotten to the really good stuff yet. Johnston looked back down at the list and kept reading. At the end of the list he looked up at Jonah, eyes wide. "Do you realize what you have here?"

"I know. And I'm probably breaking about seventy federal laws by simply possessing some of it." Jonah poured two glasses of his favourite bourbon and handed one to Johnston. "But either it's here, under the control of a city government--by which I mean you--and a group of former military who are still patriots at heart, or it's out there, being used by whatever jackass thinks the biggest gun and the biggest boom make him the man in control." He took a drink of his bourbon and waited for the burn to start settling his nerves. "As it is, only three people know the weapons list--four, with you added in--and no one but me and Noah know about the shipment from the Mint. Aylah and I know about the precious metals, since they were in the same car with the smith's tools."

Johnston took a drink and thought about it. "The…Mint's shipment. Has to go to the bank. We'll add it under Rescued Funds or some such and keep every penny accounted for." He took another drink. "And we don't say a damned thing to that IRS lady who's badgering Stanley."

"Heard she was a fox, if you're into snippy little bureaucrats," Jonah said, nodding.

"Snippy is putting it nicely. I've been listening to Bonnie since the woman went out to the farm. Be a miracle if the woman doesn't go crazy in another week." Johnston paused. "Can we make it a late delivery?"

Jonah nodded. "I think so. Ask the bank manager how he keeps the backup records. If we use a paper delivery to go along with it, no one will blink."

"Good point." Johnston shook his head, choked back a cough. "Okay, that's settled. What about the gold, silver, and platinum?"

"It's not stamped for the Fed, so I looked over the manifests. It was headed to a jeweller's in Chicago." Johnston looked pained. "My thoughts exactly. So that can be considered fair game. I say we use it for tradegoods, the blacksmith has some jewelrymaking behind him. Besides, there's a silversmith in town, makes the turquoise jewelry Sylvie liked so much…" Jonah paused. Why did that still hurt? The woman had kicked him out when Em was only four.

"Good point. But all the gold so on to one person?" Johnston sounded skeptical. "Somethin' I oughta remember about that gold, though." He looked over at Jonah.

"Conducts electricity," Jonah said, after a minute. "Used in tiny amounts in electronic circuitboards. Not good for regular wiring because it melts too easily, but we've got plenty of copper for right now. Can also be used for fillings, along with the silver. Other than that, it's really shiny."

Johnston chuckled. "Yep, that's it. Gold is shiny. How did I forget that?"

"Old age?" Jonah grinned at him.

"You're only a year after me, and I can still kick your ass." Johnston mock-glared at his old friend.

"Never happened," Jonah replied. "And I'm not only younger, I'm better looking, too."

Johnston snorted. "You mean compared to the north end of a southbound mule."

"Like I said, I'm better looking than you," Jonah replied, smirking. Johnston gave him a dirty look, started to say something, and dissolved into a coughing fit. Jonah's smirk faded as he watched Jonah's coughing continue. "You been to the doc, John?" he asked.

"Yeah. Gail's trying to get me to take the second course of antibiotics, but the first course didn't do any good," the mayor replied.

"So you're resisting." After a moment, Jonah asked, "You ever go to Doc Hallowell?"

"Not for years. Not since he retired. Why?"

"I still go see him when I need medical attention. Well, that or go to the Rogue." Jonah explained. "Not exactly a warm atmosphere in the clinic."

"Well, I think you'll find the clinic's changed since the bombs." He sighed. "Might just go see Doc if he'll let me in. He was pretty pissed after I told him his collection of exotic art wasn't appropriate for his front yard."

"Hell, John, the man's near eighty! Naughty statues are about all he's got left, given his health. You remember his office." Johnston and Jonah chuckled, remembering the huge nude painting of the 1964 Playmate of the Year that had hung in the old man's office. No one, not even the preacher's wife and her catty comments, could convince the old man that the subject matter was inappropriate for his office. After a while, everyone, even Johnston's father, had stopped trying. "Seriously, though, if you're going to drop by Doc's, let me drive you. If he gives you a shot, you'll be out of it before you make it home."

"All right. Just try to get me back before Gail gets home." With that, the two men headed out to Doc Hallowell's rather large estate on the south edge of town. It was a forty-minute drive, and Johnston was glad he didn't have to make it.

During the drive, they discussed how to distribute the weapons Jonah had acquired from the ammunitions car. They agreed that no one should handle the carbines and machineguns if they hadn't had some sort of military training. Only those with prior military service would be permitted the other, more interesting military gear--like the C-4 and the grenades. When and why to distribute it would be a matter they would need to take up at another time. They needed the security force trained first.

*****

At Doc's, Johnston got a quick but thorough exam and a knowing nod.

"Yep. You're pretty damned sick, Green. You said antibiotics didn't take care of it?" At Johnston's confirmation, the old man grunted. "Got just the thing. Wait here for a minute."

Doc left, and Johnston looked over at Jonah. "I'd forgotten the man has the bedside manner of a grizzly bear."

"You should see him when you're actually wounded, not just sick," Jonah commented, flipping through one of Doc's more exotic reading choices. Nothing like what he'd kept as a younger man. That was artistic. This was just…sad. He tossed the magazine to the side and looked over at his friend. "What?"

"What kind of wounds, Jo? Or do I want to know?" Johnston's voice was quiet.

"Nothing as bad as you're thinking. Just a few scrapes and slices now and then. Broken ribs." Jonah thought back over the last several years. "One knife wound, but that wasn't intentional."

"What, you fell on your knife while running on thin ice?" Jonah had forgotten Johnston's smart-aleck streak.

"More like a guy jumped me and I didn't appreciate it much. Doc was closer than the clinic, so I saw Doc." Jonah shrugged. It was simple, really.

"Can't imagine the other guy needed medical attention," Johnston sighed, remembering the reasons why he and Jonah had quarrelled so many years ago.

"If he got it, I never found out about it. His buddy dragged him out of here and back to Omaha." Jonah looked at Johnston. "Trust me when I say you did not want those elements here in Jericho. Hell, I didn't want them here, if that's any indication of what they were like."

Johnston thought for a minute, then nodded. "Good enough," he said, letting the topic drop. Just then, Doc came back into the room with a wicked-looking syringe.

"Holy-moley, what is that?" Johnston hadn't seen one of those since his time in the Army. That syringe looked at least thirty years old.

"G.I. cocktail," Doc replied. "It'll burn like a bitch going in. You've got twenty minutes after I give it to you before you're flat on your ass, and you'll sleep for about twenty-four hours. Upside is that you'll wake up fresh as a daisy and, with a little bit of taking it easy and a touch of medicinal brandy, you'll be good as new in 72 hours."

Johnston took a deep breath, weighed his options, and held out his arm. "Go for it, Doc."

"Heh. Stand and drop 'em." Doc looked over his bifocals at the man. "Arm's not enough for this one."

Jonah stood and walked out to start the car as Johnston muttered under his breath and fumbled with his belt buckle. Yep, twenty minutes from now, he'd have to get help getting Johnston inside and into bed. He'd also be the one explaining to two irate redheads exactly what had happened to the mayor. Jake and Eric he didn't worry about. But redheads worried him. His late aunt had been a redhead, and she was positively hell on wheels when she got irritated.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	12. The Days After: 9 cont 1

**Warnings: **Nothing I can think of for this chappy...

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Jonah went up to the Green's door and knocked, hoping someone who wasn't a redhead opened the door. He was in luck. It was Eric.

"Jonah? Is something wrong?" Eric looked haggard.

"No. Just drove Johnston home from Doc Hallowell's. The antibiotics weren't working, so Doc gave him something a little stronger. Your dad's a little out of it now--" Behind Eric, a familiar blonde head appeared. The face attached to it was wearing an unpleasant expression. "Help me get him in and up to bed."

Eric nodded and walked out to the car. It took both of them to navigate the stairs, and once or twice Johnston's complete lack of balance nearly pitched them all down the stairs, but they managed. Finally, after stripping him out of his jeans and button-down shirt, they covered him with blankets and left him to sleep it off.

"What did Doc give him?" Eric was more than curious. Even after an evening at the lake, Eric had never seen his father that completely wasted.

"A G.I. cocktail. Before you ask, I have no idea what's in it, but I can safely say that he'll be fine within the next three days. Just tell Gail to let him sleep it off. I'll drop by with the second set of instructions tomorrow morning." Jonah turned and headed for the door, trying to forget that his daughter was there, and glaring at him.

"Thanks, Jonah. Come by Bailey's tonight. She's opened for regular hours. She has a limited menu back, but the generator's working just fine, so the jukebox is working again." He paused. "Bring the guys. More than one person in town is willing to buy them a round or two."

Jonah paused, surprised by this invitation. Eric was almost as stuffily puritannical as his grandmother had been, but it was hard to dislike him. Despite his golden-boy reputation, Jonah was sure that he had something wicked in him somewhere. Unlike Jake, though, he hadn't gone running to find out.

"Just might do that, Eric. And thanks." With that he left, not addressing his unhappy daughter. He was certain that Emily would have more than a little to say to Eric after the door closed behind him. Jonah drove back to the office, noting the time. Between the office and the Green's, he passed the medical center, to see Aylah and Heather with a group of volunteers working on the windmill.

He pulled over and stopped to watch them for a few minutes.

"Okay," Aylah shouted from the tie-in section. "Get ready to test the bladespeed."

"Ready when you are," Heather yelled back.

"On five--One. Two. Three. Four. Five!" The rhythmic count gave Aylah time to move her hand from the tie-in and step back. Jonah took that opportunity to step in.

"Thought you were at the train," he said.

"We were, this morning. Ran back to the office around nine, grabbed the parts for this turbine, and came out here. Between stripping gears out of the engine and checking the drive-train, we found exactly what we needed to finish the damned thing. By twilight, we'll have this baby off the generator and off the grid." Aylah turned and smiled at Jonah. She was definitely not the same hesitant girl he'd held last night. "The guys are still there, stripping the cars down. They'll get through most of the cars tonight and we'll start transporting them somehow. Actually, one of the guys had a question, so he went to the library to get the information. Might not have to do more than take the weight off the platforms. Said something about horses and old railroad configurations."

"Feeling better, I see." Jonah's comment was really a question. He'd nodded to indicate he knew the information about the guys was fine with him.

"Much." Her smile softened. "Thanks, Big J."

"Anytime kid. When you're done, go to Bailey's." She started to protest. "I know you don't drink, but we'll be in good company."

After a brief hesitation, Aylah nodded. She was about to say something when Heather yelled down for her to check the feed. The bladespeed was perfect--more than required. As Aylah looked over the results, Jonah slipped back into his car and drove away.

*****

At Bailey's that night, Jonah's men enjoyed a night without many sideways glances. He didn't know what was more surprising, that none of his guys got drunk or that Mitchell Cafferty actually broke up a fight between to guys over something as dumb as they were.

When Jake and Eric showed up at the bar, they dropped by where Jonah and Aylah were sitting with Noah, Heather, and Thomas Carmichael, one of the mine executives. Carmichael and Jonah had always gotten along since they'd had nothing to do with each other when Jonah worked at the mine. Now, Jonah ran transport for the mine, courtesy of Stevens. Anderson hated it, but he couldn't vote down the contract.

Jake sat down in the booth next to Heather, and Eric offered to get a round for everyone, which gave him an excuse to see Mary Bailey for a second. Carmichael and Noah accepted the drink from Eric, but decided to go down to the dancefloor section of the tavern. They took two empty barstools and relaxed as they compared the differences in aviation repair, transportation, and mining. Eric left to go home to April.

It was after a bad pun about panda bears and firearms that Emily walked in. She saw Jake and her father with two women, the faces were obscured by the crowd, laughing and drinking companionably. As she watched, completely disgusted, she saw several people drop by and say hello to them. And one of those people was the principal of the high school!

She sat down on the barstool and ordered something she knew would have her oblivious with two repeats. Wasn't it enough that Roger was gone? Did she really have to watch her father, the man who'd gotten her brother killed and left her mom years ago, become the town's darling? With Jake, her ex-fiancee, right beside him? And who gave Jake permission to get over her anyway? And who was that slut with Jonah?

Damn him. Damn _them_. Damn them both.

*****

Heather and Jake left shortly before most of the guys from Quaker Transport. Jake held Heather's hand as they walked to her place, to help her stay steady. That was what he told himself, anyway, and what he would've said if she'd asked. But she didn't ask and he didn't say, and he knew the real reason. It was only her hand, but he didn't know if he'd ever get to hold more of her.

Aylah stayed next to Jonah during their time at Bailey's, the crowd bothering her more than she wanted to admit. It wasn't the people, necessarily, it was the noise and the press of the bodies in the room. Jonah knew it would take her a long time to become comfortable in a place like this, so he'd stayed right beside her, his dominant right hand to the room and his body between her and everyone else.

Between the strangeness of the last several days and the meeting the day before, Jonah began to realize that the people around Jericho would have welcomed him back long ago, if he'd only been paying attention.

His self-imposed exile to the edge of town was entirely his own fault. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he was a big boy. He could take it.

On the scale of things, it was better than being shot at.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	13. The Days After: 12, 13, & 14

**Timeline: **Bombs + 12, 13, 14

**A/N:** I know the times for Jake's past aren't perfect, but it does work, if it's taken that "six months out of work" in San Diego was a bit of exaggeration on Jake's part. Returning the majority of the focus to Jonah again. If it's not changed, presume that other events remain the same, if I'm not addressing the characters (like Jake and Hawkings and Jimmy, etc.) directly. Jonah's still getting settled in to his new place in town.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

It'd been nearly two weeks after the bombs. Jonah's shop was open for business, now running on a set of wind turbines Aylah and Heather had whipped together and installed with the help of the town mechanics, no mechanical governors included. Jonah did not want to keep running the shop generator the way he had been.

The research that Billy had done about the railcars had paid off--three teams of draft horses, a breed the Clarinds refused to give up on their spreads, were hitched to the boxcars-come-flatcars and pulled them easily to the switchyard. After the cars were moved, the handcar was ready to be employed. It moved faster, especially with the team of guys working to pump the car into the railyard and closer to town. After they'd gotten the tankers to the railyard, they could breathe a bit easier. They were also able to round up aluminum and plastic drums that could be hauled back to town with something like ease. The cars with pipes and other huge, currently unusable things, were stored at the railyard via the handcar.

High school students invaded Jonah's shop and Aylah's peace the twelfth day after the bombs. He introduced the kids to the two mechanics from town, to Aylah and Heather, whom many already knew as Miss Lisinski, and to the members of his crew who would be helping out from time to time. The one warning was also issued: Jonah decided who stayed and who went, not the principal or Miss Maddie. He would not tolerate anything less than their best effort and careful attention to their surroundings.

The fact that Jonah said it made them all pay attention, all twelve of them on their first mechanics rotation. Some were familiar enough with tools and engines to pay attention to Jonah and they agreed. There was no room for a screw-up in a working garage/machine shop. Others were not familiar with the tools, but with Jonah. Skylar Stevens and Lisa Carmichael numbered in that group, though Lisa was familiar with tools because of her father's affection for working on antique motorcycles. She'd helped him out as a kid, and she'd actually managed to get pretty good at it herself. Skylar had simply drawn the short straw for this rotation and gotten stuck in the physics/mechanics section of research. She knew Jonah, so she knew better than to expect anything less than exactly what he said.

However, with teenagers present, there is one certainty in life: Someone will decide to be cute and start fooling around. This time, it was one of the jocks who drove a cool car, but didn't know anything about it. Several people debated if he even knew where the gas went in, but no one said it to his face. He was annoying at best, a bully at worst.

As Heather and Aylah were explaining the division of labour and the class, he'd ignored them. Heather took those who were new to the world of machines and Aylah took the ones who said they were familiar with the most basics and could at least name and give the purpose of the various tools, even if they'd never used them. After reviewing most of the basics, like wrenches, pliers, screwdrivers, nail guns, pneumatic equipment, cutting and welding torches, she moved on to the big-kid toys. One of those happened to have a nasty shock that it applied when mishandled, and the jock, thinking to be cute, took hold of it and knocked himself silly with the charge.

Aylah just looked over at the boy and asked, "Is he breathing?"

Lisa walked over to her ex-boyfriend and watched his chest. "Looks like it," she replied. She leaned down to double check. "Yep. He's alive."

The class stood there, wide-eyed, waiting to see what their teacher would do.

"Works for me." She continued with the list of tools, ignoring the boy on the floor. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, which now included rolling on the floor and groaning from the boy as sound effects, one of the kids asked if she was going to do something for the injured student. Aylah looked at the young man and said calmly, "No. He was stupid enough to ignore the safety rules, so he got what he deserved. He's not dead, so he isn't my problem anymore. In about thirty minutes, when he's well enough to stand, Jonah will send him on his way." She looked around the pale faces.

"Look, this isn't kid stuff. You're not in a classroom and playing with the safety-scissors and glue anymore. How many of you have said, in the last year, that you're old enough to be treated like an adult?"

Hands raised all over the room. They were all too surprised to be dishonest right now, and Aylah preferred that.

"Welcome to the adult world. If you're not paying attention, it will kick your ass. Now, can we continue on to the drill press, please?" She moved to the next machine and began explaining the joys of the drill press. "Whatever you do, do not stick your hand between the plates while it's running. You will lose your hand…"

Jonah walked in while as they finally put the kids to work sorting out the machine parts they'd scavenged from the locomotive, some of the kids who'd shown some aptitude for using the torches working on trimming out 8'x8' sheets from the boxcar plates that were on the "sacrifice" list. Those that they were reassembling for increased storage would be dealt with later. He saw the young man wandering around in a circle shaking his head and moaning. He looked over at Heather, who pointed to Aylah. When he looked at Aylah and jerked his head toward the boy, she drew her hand across her throat. Jonah took the kid by the collar and told Leon to drive him back to the school to answer to Miss Maddie.

None of the kids noticed the boy was gone.

*****

Skylar Stevens was sorting gears by size when Jonah walked over.

"Skylar," he said, "didn't expect to see you here." She was taller than the last time he'd seen her. Then again, she was sixteen now, not ten.

Skylar shrugged. "Neither did I, but I was working with Lisa on the research," she pointed to where the other girl was cutting along a boxcar side-seam, "and we were assigned here for this week. I'm so lost. I can research with the best, but I'm pretty useless here, and I know it. I mean, what is this?" she held up a 3/4'" cog and looked frustrated. "I think Miss Lisinski finally took mercy on me and had me sort these until she can find something I won't screw up."

Jonah wasn't surprised. She'd never understood the first thing about machines, even when he'd let her "help" him at the mine. It was never anything she could destroy or anything important, but she'd end up covered in oil and grease and whatever she was working on would be unrecognizable by the end of the day.

"So long as you get the same shapes and sizes in the same box, a fine sort by metal can be done later." She looked up at him with lost puppy eyes. "They're too dirty for that now, so we'll drop them in a degreaser for a day or so before we're ready for that." He grinned down at her. "Relax. You'll have something else to organize by then."

The teen shook her head, setting her ponytail bouncing. "I know. I don't mind organizing and sorting, I mean somebody has to do it and better me than someone who can fix things, but I just…" she bit her lip, then blurted it out. "I just wish someone would tell me what was going on at the mine! Gray was running everything and he treats me like I don't know anything about it but that it's a big hole in the ground! Dad's been teaching me everything about it, and now that he and Mom…" Tears welled up in her eyes and she looked back at the box of gears.

Jonah thought for a long minute. "Who's your guardian while your parents are gone?"

"I don't have one," she sniffed, trying to stop the tears.

"Sky, if they were gone, who'd have custody of you, according to their will?" The question was gentle, but he wasn't going to let this go.

"I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe the Carmichaels? It'd be in the bank, or maybe Dad's safe at the mine. Or at the house."

"Check there when you get home. I'll have Thomas check at the mine office--he has the emergency combination, right?" When she nodded and wiped her eyes with a clean spot of her sleeve, he continued. "And we'll ask the bank president to let you into your dad's safety deposit box, given that it is an emergency situation without precedent in U.S. history."

Skylar nodded again, the smiled up at him, her tears slowly disappearing. "Thanks, Mr. Prowse." She looked at the gears and then back up at him. "I'll try not to screw this up too much."

"Oh, don't worry about it. If you do, well, the floors could use scrubbing," he flashed her an evil mine-boss smile and walked over to see how Heather's group was faring with the new-tool sort and stash. Come to think of it, these shop floors were more than a bit disgusting. He wasn't running a NASCAR garage, where even the concrete gleamed. He was running a transport business. Keeping the trucks running was much more important than keeping the floors spotless.

He managed not to laugh at the indignant, "Hey!" behind him or the theatrical grumbling, accompanied by the too-loud thunk of gears hitting boxes.

*****

That night, Skylar Stevens looked through her father's safe and found the Last Will and Testament that belonged to her parents. In the event that she was underage and something happened to them, be it death or some unspecified reason they couldn't get home for an unusually long period of time, custody of one Skylar Stevens was to go whoever was listed in here. She couldn't bring herself to look it over, but she noted that the will was dated several years ago, before Gray Anderson had bought into the mine. At least she wouldn't have to deal with him on a daily basis.

Now, if only she could get her hands on the books…

She took her parents' will to the mayor's office the next morning before school and met Jonah, Miss Maddie, and a few others from the new town council there. Eric Green, the town lawyer and deputy mayor, was also there. She handed the will to him.

"My parents were in New York City," she explained as Eric looked at her sharply. "I'm a minor, still, by Kansas law, even though I'm old enough to drive and work, and in six months can join the Army--if we still have an Army, that is. But I can't do anything with the mine or anything else without the consent of someone I may or may not even know." She looked at Eric with pleading eyes. "I don't want to know anything else--just who's making those decisions, or supposed to be."

"Your daddy never told you, sweetheart?" Miss Maddie asked, her voice soothing the girl as she grew more and more upset.

"No. I never thought to ask." Skylar looked over at Eric and then at the rest of the council. "Please? I know I'm young to you all, but I know the mine. I know the business, what salts we produce and refine, what fair prices were--and are now--and I know the workers. I know the distributors we use, the different chemical companies we supply…and how to keep the books, inventory, and run the place. Dad's been teaching me since I was able to crawl around."

Jonah nodded. "It's true. She used to recite the lists of salts available from the mine to the secretaries, the technical and the everyday names. She even spelled them correctly and could draw the diagrams of them--by the time she was four. Stevens brought her in at least twice a week after school to learn some part of the business or another. Don't know if he still does--"

"He did. Would, if he were here now. I was supposed to learn the explosives loads and procedures starting in January." She looked at Eric. "Please?"

"It's unusual," Eric said, thinking over precedents, "but it can be done." He looked at the girl. "The ironic part is that, if you were married to a boy your age, he'd have legal guardianship until you were eighteen."

"Like boys my age can think with the head on their shoulders," she grouched, rolling her eyes. Johnston coughed to cover a laugh while Miss Maddie and the other women on the council chuckled. Walking behind her, Jonah pulled her ponytail.

"Be nice." He picked up his coffee cup from the table nearby and propped against it.

"Was I lying?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Never said that, just to be nice." He raised an eyebrow at her and sipped his coffee. Skylar grinned at him, knowing that, if Jonah was nothing else, he was honest to the point of brutality. Her father had said that more than once after an argument over transport. She didn't consider it odd that a thief could be honest. He'd never bothered to hide what he was doing, after all, and no one had challenged him on it until Gray Anderson showed up. The fact was that Jonah had stopped stealing from the mine as soon as the bypass was done and after that, well, he may have sold some things off-books, but it was old stuff that was going to be scrapped anyway. Skylar's father said he'd had to have had a good reason for it, and let it slide.

Eric had been reading through the document and, just as people were sipping their morning cup of coffee, found the section with custody and guardianship listed.

"In the event of my demise or should circumstances prevent me from taking care of my daughter, Skylar Stevens, for an extended length of time, I, Joseph Stevens, give custody to my wife, Karina. Should both of us be deceased or unable to care for Skylar Stevens, I give trust of her inheritance to Johnston Green and actual custody of my daughter to Jonah Prowse." Eric read it in his best courtroom voice. Then the impact of what he'd just read sank in.

Jonah spat hot coffee all over Johnston's back as his name was read out. He was expecting to hear Gail's name after that. After a second of stunned silence, the council room burst into a myriad of comments and, from Johnston, curses about the hot coffee and apologetic asides to Skylar, even while he threatened to "whip Jonah's scrawny behind for that."

"You think I planned that?" Jonah snapped back over the general noise, desperate to ignore the seeming insanity of one Joseph Stevens. "Yeah, I'll be handed Stevens' daughter to raise and oh, look, I can spit hot coffee on Johnston's back? Get real."

After standing there for a long minute while chaos broke loose as a reaction, Skylar started giggling. Then she started laughing. Everyone grew quiet as they realized how Skylar was taking it. They tried to question her, but she couldn't stop laughing. By the time she laughing so hard tears were running down her face, they'd decided she was having a delayed hysterical reaction and the full meeting tonight was soon enough to finish things up. Finally, when she calmed down enough to speak, the council had cleared out and Johnston and Jonah were left with her. Johnston asked her what had been so amusing. Jonah tried drinking more of his much-abused coffee.

"Something I heard Dad tell Gray a while back," she said, smirking. "He said he'd trust Jonah with his wife and his daughter, but not the books." Jonah choked again, only this time not as spectacularly.

Johnston chuckled at the disgruntled expression on Jonah's face. "Well, that won't be a problem. I'll be keeping the books."

"Actually," she said, given the mayor an apologetic look, "I will. I know what should be there, and you're busy. If there's a discrepancy, I'll bring them to you." She rolled her eyes. "And one or both of you might have to peel Gray off the ceiling when he finds out. He's been acting like it's all his, and that is _not_ in the contract."

Both men stared at her, then looked at each other. Damned if the little girl wouldn't have done just fine on her own.

*****

As the day grew longer and the kids began to pack up for the day, they would return home at sunset each afternoon, Jonah looked over his paperwork. So far, the inventory list had grown to reflect "train parts, to be determined" and an unholy amount of sheet-metal, most of it steel or aluminum.

Jonah looked over the plans Johnston had sent him about the security force. It was simple, really. Volunteers from the community would be trained by the various veterans who lived in Jericho to become a fighting force, should the need arise. They would also help to keep the roads around Jericho clear when things were not so dire. No one really expected there to be a war with anyone, but trouble, well, that was a legacy that every Westerner knew. Trouble could be counted on, and sometimes it would crop up within city limits. That was the easy trouble. Trouble from out of town tended to set in and took longer to get rid of.

Jonah added a note or two in his sharp, spiky writing that perhaps a general requirement for anyone age 14 or older who hadn't learned to shoot by now needed to learn, health permitting. If nothing else, the kids could hunt. He also included that anyone who was not married could be tapped at need, meaning those who didn't want to join in immediately, but didn't have a family to defend, would be involved in the town's defense, too.

He sat back for a while, and tried to imagine the few kids he knew from the miners' families with firearms. Skylar knew how to shoot, she just didn't like the noise. He'd get her some ear-protectors and take her out to the range again. He remembered being there with Joseph and Thomas when they'd taught Skylar and Lisa the most basic gun safety and use. Skylar had a good eye, but she wasn't the active type. Lisa had done well with it, and actually seemed to enjoy it. For all the girl insisted upon acting like a starlet, she was more a tomboy than she wanted to admit. He chuckled at the memory of Lisa, all of seven, informing him that the fanbelt on the third shaft ventilator was frayed, and could he please have it replaced before it went "kablooey"? He'd promised to check it out and she'd beamed at him like he was a god.

He could remember the same expression on Emily's face when he picked her up and tossed her into he air, generally making Sylvie shriek as Emily did the same, but for a completely different reason. She'd adored him once. Kids were easy. Cute as they were, why in hell did they have to grow up?

*****

On the fourteenth day after the bombs, Johnston announced the formation of a Jericho security force, yet to be named, to the assembled citizens the next morning. It had been a scheduled meeting to hear the decisions the council had made the night before. He also informed them that they were going to go ahead with the orangeries, and, depending upon the power situation, start setting up more turbines to different buildings. The shop classes had done their jobs over the past two days, and three more turbines were ready to be put together and installed.

The three buildings to receive direct-feed power were Town Hall, Gracie Lee's Market, and Professional's Row, the section of downtown that was nicknamed for the dentists and doctors and other professionals who needed power for their work.

At the end, Johnston asked for volunteers to join the security force to step up and sign in. One of the first to step forward was Jake Green, Johnston's black sheep son. Jonah wasn't surprised, really. He knew that Jake was a fighter. What did surprise him was when Heather Lisinski stepped up shortly after Jake.

Jake looked down at Heather in surprise. She was a teacher! A mechanic! What was she doing signing up for this? He asked her in a bit more diplomatic manner. "Heather? Are you sure about this?" Emily stepped up beside Heather. He asked her the same thing, adding "You're both teachers." As if that was significant.

"Yeah, well," Emily sighed, "sometimes makes it easier." She gave Jake a look that reminded him what they had been like in high school. He just shook his head.

Heather gave him a more serious answer. "I know how to shoot, Jake. I learned from my dad as a kid. This is my home, too, and I'm not going to stand idly by if things go even further down the drain. Besides, I need to get back into practice again." She grinned up at him. "Wanna see my collection?" Jake stared at her. "Inherited some of it, bought some of it, got some parts as gifts." She rolled her eyes at the dazed expression on his face. "Oh, come on, Jake! Physics? Remember? You can't get more in-line with the subject area than small objects moving through cylinders at high rates of speed and then arcing and dropping and spinning to the intended destination!"

Jake just shook his head. "Now gun collections? Damn." He watched as her expression grew impatient, then flashed her a dazzling smile. "Better remember not to pick on elementary school teachers anymore. Who knows what could happen to me!"

Heather opened her mouth to protest, then started to chuckle as he laughed quietly.

"You are such a pain in the neck," she griped. She didn't realize that their hands had twined together until he tugged her up to the WWII monument to sign into the security force. She signed first, then he did. He noted that one section of the list was for military experience.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and, when he opened them, wrote the truth.

*****

Jonah, Johnston, and three others reviewed the list of names. There were several surprises on the list, including who hadn't signed up. Old Man Adams hadn't signed up, but everyone knew that was more for health and age than for lack of will to fight. They'd divided the list and each took a turn reading a name and military experience from it. When Jonah got to Jake's name, he stopped reading halfway through.

"Well?" Johnston said, impatient.

"Sorry. Jacob Victor Green, 3 yrs. 1 mo. U.S. Army, 2Lt.; Aviation officer & pilot/Chinook; Ranger candidate; Medical discharge during Ranger School, 2004. Transport driver/pilot for Blackthorne Ltd., 14 mos. Afghanistan, 6 mos. Iraq." His voice was steady, but this was one helluva surprise. Johnston stared at Jonah for a minute.

"Let me see that," he snapped, holding out his hand. When Jonah handed the paper over, Jake's father snatched it out of his hand. "I'll be damned. Here I thought he'd been--" Johnston bit his tongue on what he was going to say. "Well, he tried to tell me this a few days ago, but I told him it didn't matter, since he'd changed so much since he'd left. Now I know why." Johnston sat back in his chair brooding.

Peter Lumpkins, a man who saw no humour in his unfortunate last name, spoke to the point. "So, we put him where?"

"Aside at the moment," Jonah said. "He's got enough training to be dangerous to himself and others, but no actual combat experience within a military unit. We'll find a place for him like we are the ones with no training who have long experience with firearms. In fact, put him in with Liwinski and Richmond for now.

Johnston half-listened, and when the men agreed, added his nod. "All right. Next?"

"Emily Sullivan," Peter read. "No military experience, firearm experience since age six."

"Put her with Mitchell Cafferty in Marcus Clarind's group."

"Not with Jake?" Serena Givens, a former Navy commander asked, somewhat surprised.

"Won't listen to him--might just use him for target practice," Jonah smiled at his grim joke. "Jake and I are not among her favourite people, Serena."

Serena nodded slowly. "All right, but this is a pretty volatile group you're handing to Marcus."

"He's a reserve master sergeant in the Marines, but only because he reached sixteen years in last year and came home with a pretty nasty wound. Since he's healed up and was technically waiting for his discharge papers, he's the perfect choice. He can handle it," Johnston told her, making a note. "Besides, Emily's temper may not be held back around Jake, and Mitch is starting to settle in to life in Jericho--even if it has taken him twenty-seven years--but no one considers Marcus a pushover, no matter how quiet he may be. Next?"

The list went on. The meeting had been at eight. By nine, everyone who was immediately interested had signed on, others to follow, since enrollment was open. It was now close to ten, and the men were less than a quarter of he way through their list. Eight pages of signatures in less than an hour? That was close to ten percent of the population!

They were about to move on to the next name when the lights snapped on.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	14. The Days After: 14, Night

**On a Dark Horse-16**

Novellas/Chapters

**Timeline:** Bombs + 14 through about 9:10 p.m.

**Warnings:** None.

**Disclaimer:** If you haven't figured it out by now, NOT MINE. I can only wish...

**A/N:** Quick & dirty tech research re: power grid. More in-depth research into EMPs, but still not obsessive amounts. Moved fire from library to school, other events remain basically the same, with a few exceptions. I know the streets are different, but the school's on a different utilities trunk. Also, there are some other problems with that series of scenes, one of which is corrected at the library in my section. The fire hydrants wouldn't be connected to the grid or necessarily rely on electric pumps to keep going, but I don't have time to do the research to correct that part. Were this my baby and for money, I'd make sure the info was as close to perfect as I could get. Meanwhile, I'm employing the age-old solution of suspension of disbelief, a.k.a. the "it's for fun, roll with it" defense. According to my slightly altered timeline, the whole thing with the pesticides & emergency harvest happened while the kids were in their first day back at school, so about 4-5 days before the power came back on. Missiles launched from over 200 miles away would not shake the ground in Jericho, nor would 90-ft rockets or smaller, since the Titan IIs have been decommissioned, the Peacekeepers are smaller-about 70ft long-and also unavailable, and I believe the Titan IIIs (my name for the newest ICBMs, since they've not been advertised to my knowledge-and of course we have newer and updated ICBMs, it's just the way our defense system works) be seen clearly from such a great distance, given size and speed. The EMP was an upper-atmosphere blast, which makes it affect a larger area, but, again, by the time the blast would've reached Jericho, the efficacy would be greatly reduced. More on that later, most likely from Heather, the oh-so-convenient physics and science geek.

"Get batteries charged. I know we've been using the med center to keep the radios going, but do it anyway." Johnston snapped to his secretary. The rest of the security group, name to be determined after they had gotten everything in place, followed him out of the room.

"You!" Serena Givens barked to a trio of young men who'd been assigned to keep records of complaints in the sheriff's office. "Get the word out. Everything on a computer that might be worthwhile as records or information gets printed out. Now! Private, public, doesn't matter. This includes schools and every office available-especially the bank and the mine. Johnston, I'll be down at the warehouses, handing out paper and ink cartridges - and we'll use the office store print shop, too." It was a good idea, and made sense coming from a career sailor, so Johnston didn't object. He added a direction or two to Serena.

"Bank has plenty - don't worry about them coming by. Use whatever kids are down there to help you. Take Jimmy or Bill with you. And don't forget to have them sign for the supplies." He didn't need to add more. Serena had handled a command slot in the Navy, both at sea and at Fort Five-Sides, as she like to call the landlocked Pentagon.

"We'll pull a meeting together by noon. That should give people plenty of time to get things together." That from Eric. "Need to make major decisions by then."

"Fine. Get word out." Johnston sent Eric on his way. "Peter, get whoever you can with plastic and aluminum containers down to the gas stations. Pump it all. We'll deal with explanations later."

"Go by and get my guys to go out to the rural stations on the surrounding highways. We've got drums we can use - just remind them not to be stupid," Jonah chimed in, telling the men he was willing to work with them. "Tell D'Shea to take the new trucks, if the damage wasn't serious." D'Shea's thrice-weekly patrol down one of the back roads had yielded two empty tank trucks, both empty with no obvious damage. They were looking them over at the shop.

"I'll be at Bailey's," Johnston told everyone present. "We'll coordinate from there."

"Behind you, John," Jonah said, thinking of what Aylah had said about the power coming from Rogue River. Half a month gone - if the power plant was just coming on line, they might have a month's worth of electricity to count on. If it had been running, they could be down to two weeks. There was just no way to know.

On the way to the tavern, the gathering place for many of the councilmen outside of the smaller town hall meeting room, Jonah reminded Johnston of this fact.

"We'll make sure everyone knows that, too," Johnston said, grimly. "All right. Get her down here. And Lisinski, too. I want every able body in town gathering and charging everything they can. Make sure those two check on the clinic. Last thing we need is for that to go down."

Jonah walked to his car, leaving Johnston to enter Bailey's alone.

"Transport, this is Boss, come in," he said into the CB unit. A short pause, then a hiss.

"Boss, this is Transport, hear you loud and clear, over."

"Good. Bring it in. Come to the bar for information. Gimme an ETA, come back."

"ETA 20 minutes, Boss. Transport out."

Jonah put the CB back handset back into its cradle and looked around. This was just too much luck. Something had to give.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Less than an hour later, word had gotten out that everything that could be printed should be, and people were listening. What wasn't printed went on disks and thumb drives which were then taken to the most secure place in town-the bank vault. Fifteen feet underground with steel-sheathed 2-ft-thick lead walls and a manual, not electronic, set of locks, this was the one place that people with something valuable demanded to keep those things. To deal with the demand, the bank president had the safety deposit boxes opened, the disks put into those boxes, and those taken down to the vault. Not everyone had a safety deposit box, though, so those people were told to go get a suitable box from their house and line it with wax paper. Names were applied to the boxes in indelible ink, or, if the box was metal, with a metal lettering kit they'd bought to punch the numbers into key copies they made for the safety deposit boxes. Each person who got a box got the one copy of the key.

By noon, most people had managed that, and a few more paranoid individuals had removed their harddrives from their computers and taken the entire unit down to the bank.

Heather, Aylah, and the utilities men were down at the med center, looking over the work. They agreed there was no conflict, and no reason to stop the windmill. They did, however, advocate a concerted effort to bring any and all equipment from the local dentist and other doctor's offices down to the med center, removing and storing any and all equipment not currently in use.

April protested, knowing that any injuries would need the equipment on hand, but Aylah spoke quietly to Gail as April complained about that idea.

"Gail, if the power spikes, we'll lose some of that equipment. I don't think the med center will be affected, but the buildings downtown just might. That's where the other offices are - and we really don't want to lose all of that stuff. We can't replace it." Aylah's urgency was driven by the feeling that this boon wouldn't last. "Besides, we don't have injuries much right now - we have colds and flus. Those do not need heart monitors and all of the rest of it. You know that. Please, get her to see sense."

"I'll take care of it. And I'll get the medical server we have backed up and carried down to the fallout shelter." Gail smiled. "We got the ventilator fixed and there are no leaks. A bunch of other medical equipment and medicines are down there now. Go. You've got other things to do. April! Stop arguing! We're not using most of this right now - let's prepare for a worst-case now." She moved over to the young doctor and kept talking. Heather hobbled out with Aylah, looking around.

"Where to?" Aylah asked, looking around town. "Gail's setting up the recovery of all medical equipment and relocation to the med center. We lose that building and we're in a world of hurt."

Heather looked around. "There's another one we have to protect. We lose those books and we're back in the Stone Age." They started for the library, both acknowledging the need for the knowledge stored there. More, they'd tripled the number of books available by the find on the train, not counting specialty orders and manuals that were for specific orders and still packed away in the warehouses.

"I do not want to have to rediscover the wheel," Aylah muttered. "Power spikes are the main concern now - flammable material inside - the place is an accident waiting to happen."

About that moment, the power spiked once, sparks flying from the place where power connected to the building under discussion. Aylah sprinted over to the utility pole. She was halfway to the transformer when the second spike added a few more sparks, but no fire occurred. Another ten seconds had Aylah reaching the transformer box and killing the power to the lines attached to the library. She barely got away from the transformer in time to avoid the third spike.

The school auditorium and Emily Sullivan weren't that lucky. Sirens screamed as firemen and volunteers swarmed to the school. Then reports of a second fire came from the trailer park. Johnston stayed at Bailey's and coordinated responses throughout the town using the radios and local phones. After the fifth repeat of the message from Secretary Walsh, one of the phone company linemen took out a manual and figured out how to turn the damned thing off, putting the phones on a local-only circuit, unless a particular code was punched in.

At the school, Eric ran into the auditorium after Emily and a little girl were trapped inside. The firemen were getting help from Robert Hawkins and Jake when one of the hoses lost pressure.

"What happened?" Jake called over to the engine leader.

"Lost pressure. Power spike must've fried the relay at the station," he called back.

"Where's the pumping station?" Jake called back.

"South and Fillmore!" The engine leader was directing a pair of men to try the secondary hydrant closer to the school, but he wasn't hopeful. They were all supplied by the same pumping station.

Jake looked around for Stanley, but didn't see him. Instead, Robert Hawkins, a man who'd been helping out since the bombs, arrived.

"Need to get to the pumping station on South and Fillmore," Jake said as Hawkins jogged over. "Know where that is?"

"Near the gas station, right?" Hawkins asked, heading for his car.

"Right." Jake hopped into the passenger seat and saw Stanley as they drove. "South and Fillmore" he signed to his friend, knowing Stanley would follow.

Hawkins, Jake, and Stanley arrived at the station within minutes and Jake had them inside in mere seconds. Even hobbling, he could run.

"No pressure," Hawkins said, looking around the dirty, dusty room.

"Power spike killed the relay, motor's frozen in the off position," Jake said absently. "Here's the manual shut off." He patted the big, cast iron wheel and looked at the other two. "On three."

They heaved and groaned, but couldn't budge the wheel.

"We need leverage," Hawkins said, rubbing his hands. That had hurt.

"I got somethin'" Stanley said, running out of the building. He came back with a composite-stock rifle, with a nice scope. He removed the scope, checked the action, and doublechecked the safety. "Clear," he said, handing the rifle to Jake. "You push, we pull, and maybe we can get this working." Stanley put his scope aside, thinking of Bonnie's smirk when she gave it to him three years ago. She'd managed to surprise him - he had been expecting a bunny.

Jake inserted the butt of the rifle the gap between a spoke of the cast-iron wheel and one of the weight-bearing bars. "Now!" he called, pushing. Stanley and Hawkins, in position, pulled and finally the wheel gave and turned.

Jake handed the rifle to Stanley, even half-distracted he returned the unloaded weapon butt-first, and put his hand on the pipes. "We've got pressure."

The three men smiled and nodded to each other. Jake borrowed the scope from Stanley to check on the other fires. Given that it was a nice hunting scope, but not made for incredible distances, he only got a general idea of the condition of the trailer park and the school. Between the two, the school was much better. Close by, though, he saw a familiar house smoking, a soft red glow promising more flames.

"Hawkins!" he called, "Got another fire. On Whitetail Drive. You know it?"

"Naw, sorry." Hawkins sounded genuinely apologetic. "Can we send Stanley for help and get there ourselves in time to do something?"

Jake nodded. "Stanley! Go tell Eric his house is on fire!"

"No shit?" Stanley called back, half-hoping this was a really lousy joke.

"No shit," Jake called back. "And try not to tell April. We're heading down there to see what we can do."

"Gotcha!" With that, Stanley hopped into his truck and roared off. Hawkins took the passenger's seat and let Jake get them down to the new fire.

"We don't have any equipment," Hawkins drawled. Jake nodded as he took a corner fast. Hawkins winced. He liked this car, and he did not want to end up in a wreck because this particular Green had a tendency to drive like he was on a racetrack.

"Pool store on the way by. We can use the water in the pool-"

"No good," Hawkins said. "The chlorine-"

"Gone by now. It's October. The pool's been out of use since early September. Worst problem we'll have is algae."

"How do you know that?"

"Because my brother is predictable," Jake paused as he slid around another corner, "and April doesn't like the cold water after Labor Day."

"Ah." Hawkins helped him drag hoses from the pool store to the SUV, then hopped back into the passenger's seat. "You seem to know a lot about pools," he said, more than a bit curious.

"Yeah. Worked for a pool company once," Jake lied, throwing the vehicle into gear and taking a shortcut across the lawn of the next business. It was a nice SUV, built to be used. Jake was using it. Hawkins winced and thought about the front-end alignment.

When the power didn't work at the pump, Hawkins backed his SUV up and used the outlet in the back. Jake looked at him, but didn't ask.

"I worked for a pool guy once, too," Hawkins replied. Jake just gave him a half-grin in acknowledgement of the lie and they concentrated on the fire.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah's men brought back six loads of fuel, using the tanks and the rest of the containers they'd found or put aside for such use, all from the rural gas stations, it was more than enough to see the town generators and emergency vehicles through the winter. Come spring, though, there would be trouble when it came to plowing the acreage on two or three of the farms without the tractors.

D'Shea said he'd noticed something odd a few miles further from town and wanted to check it out. He was told to take a muscle car and at least one person with him. Jonah didn't have to tell him to take weapons and ammo.

Johnston got reports back from Bethanne by phone - Eric was fine, April was fine, the little girl was fine, but the school auditorium was structurally unsound. The rest of the school had minor damage, mostly from water and smoke.

"Thanks Bethanne," Johnston said, "We'll get right on that." He looked over at the crowd and considered his prospects, noticing Thomas Carmichael coming his way.

"Johnston, I need to talk to you about the mine-" he began.

"Not now, Carmichael. The mine'll be there for a long time to come. Right now, there are other priorities-" Johnston paused, then said, "and you're the perfect one to deal with one of them. Get as many of the miners as you can down to the school. The auditorium burned down and the rest of the buildings have some sort of damage. Clear out all the buildings, get every single supply you can. The kids can help. Afternoon lessons are obviously suspended, since the school needs to be emptied. Everyone's okay, but there's a lot of good information and material still in there. You can organize, keep things from being put together and causing problems. Get down there and talk with Miss Maddie. Between her taking care of the schoolkids and teachers and you taking care of the materials, it'll get done fast."

"Sure, but where do we take them?" Carmichael asked, knowing they'd need a lot of space for the books and supplies. "And how will we dry them out, if they're wet?"

Jonah called Leon over. Leon was waiting for something particular to do, and Jonah needed someone to get to the compound and pull the boxcar sides and rooves to reassemble them. "Get the rest of the guys and some of the men from around town. Load up ten boxcars to be reassembled, where, Johnston?"

"By the warehouses," Johnston said, thinking of the huge parking lot. "Parking lot. It's high ground and it's got plenty of space."

"And take Stevie. Anything that's still dry gets packed by him. Anything that's still wet, figure out how to dry it out, and then let him direct."

"On it, Boss," Leon said. He whistled, made a circle-the-wagons sign and pointed to the door. The men around the room who'd been working closely with Jonah followed Leon out the door. None of them returned.

Carmichael nodded, then looked at Jonah again. Jonah returned the look and raised one eyebrow, but he didn't say anything.

"I'll make sure it gets done, Johnston." Maybe Jonah wasn't completely horrible after all. Carmichael had known for about ten years, but it would take more than this to convince Gray. Especially since the man now had custody of Skylar Stevens and her parents' shares of the mine. The shares didn't bother Carmichael. The possible influence he'd have on Skylar did.

"I know you will, Thomas. Those kids are counting on you." It was all Carmichael needed to get him moving.

"That was cruel, John," Jonah said, chuckling as the man headed out the door. "Making him personally responsible for the younger generation's education and well-being, if not happiness?"

"Heh. Got him moving though," Johnston replied, picking up the radio to tell Miss Maddie what she was going to get for help.

J*J*J*J*J*J

D'Shea returned with Mitch and Billy after sundown. The fires were out and most crises were over, but the electricity wasn't available for the entire town. The power spikes had fried a few transformers and seven neighbourhoods were completely out of power. Bailey's was still crowded, the mayor was still there, only now he was having dinner with his wife, sons, and daughter-in-law. Jonah had moved down to the bar to greet Aylah and Heather.

D'Shea was pissed. He didn't know who'd was out there, but he wasn't standing for it. He walked over to Jonah and spoke quietly in his ear, even though he wanted to yell and throw things. It just wouldn't be smart, and Jonah demanded that his men were smart when working. Stevie was the exception, but Stevie was useful, even if he wasn't so bright.

Jonah listened, then looked up at Johnston. With a jerk of his head, he got Johnston to meet him at the steps going up to the booths.

"D'Shea, Mitch, and Billy found something out on the roads. Highwaymen are here. They're going back out immediately. They're going out to search for the victims. If they find anything, they're coming back and we're going out in force. See if you can get a few more guys. It'll be short notice, if any, so I'd like them to go out to my office. Got some bunks that aren't being used."

Johnston nodded. "How bad does he think it is?"

Jonah shook his head. "Not sure yet. We'll know more later tonight."

"I'll get Serena to gather up a few volunteers." Johnston started to walk away, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"See if there's a retired medic in there," Jonah said, his expression grim. "We'll probably need him."

"Roger that." With that, Johnston walked back to the table and spoke in Eric's ear. Eric nodded and left moments later. Jonah watched the others as Johnston glossed over the reasons for his eldest son's early departure.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"I don't want a divorce now, Eric." The words played in his head, over and over as he walked down to Serena's house, just two blocks over. He didn't believe them now, any more than he believed she still loved him. Too much had gone wrong between them to try and save what was left, just because they were in some apocalyptic hell version of his hometown.

He'd learned to let go, to love again. And this time, the woman loved him, too.

Eric pushed all thoughts of love out of his head as he knocked on Serena Givens' door. She was in charge of gathering the security force, which he was on the list to train for. When the door opened, he spoke softly.

"Commander Givens, we need some of the men from the security group available to go out tonight." A quick, concise sentence that had her inviting him inside and listening very carefully to the report he'd gotten from his father.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jake clenched his jaw and looked at his father and his mentor.

"Dammit, there's no reason why I shouldn't be going-" he started.

"You don't have combat experience, Jake," Johnston said, cutting him off. "We've got several veterans going out tonight with Jonah's men-"

"Who don't have combat experience, either-"

"But who have lived in a helluva lot worse circumstances than you have." Jonah's voice was calm, but he was clearly unwilling to change his mind. "And we've all had to fight in unexpected and nasty situations. You haven't. You're trained, but nothing close to seasoned. In a few weeks, you'll be out there with us - probably less than that. But tonight isn't the night," Jonah looked at his watch. 8:00. He was supposed to be back at the office an hour ago. "And I'm out of time to argue about it." Jonah picked up his leather jacket from the sofa of the Green's house and pulled it on.

Jake turned and gathered his thoughts and his temper. Words he'd heard almost two weeks ago came back to him. _If you'd thought before you started running, you'd've figured this much out, too._ He closed his eyes and turned back.

"All right," he said, watching as Jonah's hand turned the doorknob. "But I start training immediately, the minute you get back."

Jonah looked over at Jake, now calmer and more rational. "You got a deal, kid." With a nod to Johnston, he was gone.

Jake sat in Bailey's waiting to find out more. It was almost nine. Heather was still here, talking with a few of the people from the shop. They were discussing, of course, the best way to repair a broken drive-shaft in a mid-century American car. Of course that's what she was talking about. Other women would want to dance, to romance, but Heather wanted to talk engine repair. He didn't know what was more charming - her unconscious grace or her enthusiasm for heavy metal.

She laughed and mentioned that she had to get an early start tomorrow, since the practicals, at least, would be continuing, even if the research was held up a bit. Jake watched as she slipped from her barstool, a little worse for her indulgence with dinner, but not sloppy or drunk. Being a chivalrous sort of fellow, at least with Heather, he slid off his barstool and met her halfway to the door. A glance at the clock told him it was 9:00. Perfect time to walk her home.

Heather looked up at Jake and smiled. He didn't have to tell her what he was doing, since she already knew. He'd come over to walk her home, the same way he'd done for the past week. As they walked out the door, their hands bumped, then twined together. It was so sweet. So completely unexpected. And she didn't want to ruin it by saying anything stupid, which would happen if she even so much as considered asking him about what was going on between them.

As they walked, they looked up at the sky. It was harder to see the stars tonight, since there was more light, but it was still a beautiful sky. Jake was about to point out the North Star when something odd caught his attention. Two bright white trails leading up into the sky.

"Holy hell," he breathed, stopping cold. "Those are contrails." He pointed at the two arcing white streaks

"What?" Heather followed the line of his arm. "Oh my God!" she breathed. "Jake! Go tell-" It was too late. Someone else had seen it through the window and the crowds rushed out.

"That's not from a plane," he breathed to her.

"No," she said, cold dread filling her. "Those are missile contrails."

Jake and Heather looked around. Johnston and Gail were hurrying up the street, deciding to take a walk to see how the town was doing after the hectic day. They'd seen the Jake pointing and Heather's worried expression just as the crowds began to fill the streets.

"Dad!" Jake called. "Over here!"

"Those what I think they are?" the older man asked, his voice betraying none of his nausea. Holy hell, they were going to nuke someone. And those weren't baby-bombs, either. Not coming from the missile silos in Wyoming. Those were the big mothers - 10-25 megatons each, maybe even MIRVs, which was the yield spread over ten baby-nukes, each capable of hitting a separate target, the old Peacekeeper design. Whatever government still existed was bringing Hell to Earth. Tonight.

"Yes," Heather began as a flash lit up the night sky. "NO!" she cried out, tears standing in her eyes as, less than a second later, lightbulbs popped and all the lights went out.

"What was that?" a woman cried in the crowd.

"EMP," Jake whispered as Heather mouthed the letters.

"What's that?" Mary Bailey asked, having come to stand near the mayor.

"Electo-magnetic pulse," Heather said, fighting the urge to throw up. "Zaps everything on a long-line connection. The power grid is down for…who knows how long? Anything attached to it, gone." She closed her eyes and swayed. She felt Jake's hands wrap around her waist, holding her steady, then drawing her back against him. Through the tears she felt gathering in her eyes, she felt grateful, able to continue. "Late model cars, computers that aren't shielded, gone. Most, if not all, electronic equipment attached to the grid is gone. Useless."

"What about the medical center?" Gail asked, her eyes wide. When they turned to look that way, soft lights were still glowing from the emergency bulbs.

"That's not attached to the grid anymore. We took it off," Heather laughed, relieved. "When we put up the wind turbine, we took out the grid attachment, just to keep the building safe from any power surges or anything. A lot of the equipment got a jolt, but the turbine is mechanical. It's still good. So are…any older cars without computers. Some that are real metal, late-model cars will still be drivable," her voice lost its hopeless edge and began to get excited. "The pulse is asymmetrical. It's not a guaranteed weapon this far away from the flash! And the stuff still in the atmosphere from the bombs - it's keeping the pulse from having more of a blanket-effect here! Stuff that's indoors, not attached to anything - or in the fallout shelters or the metal sheds, warehouses, not touching the walls - they should still work!"

"Most of the medical equipment will work then," Gail said, hope coming back.

"And the shop tools," a repairman added. He'd been talking with Heather in the bar.

"Look, the grid is gone, but only because the transformers are shot. That was like, like, lightning hitting every other pole at the same time. But that doesn't mean everything's gone!" Heather's voice was growing stronger.

"We'll run a systematic check of things tomorrow," Johnston said, his voice clear and sure. "We don't know what the hell is going on, but we'll do what we can to make sure we know what we've got." He looked at Heather. "What about radios, phones, other communications gear."

She shook her head. "No way to be sure. But we can test some of the things that were inside the sheriff's office tonight. If they weren't being charged, they're probably still good."

"I can look at the damage on the ones that got fried," a man piped up. He owned the electronics retail and repair store. "Hell, I've probably got good repair components in the back shed - damned thing's been grounded since my dad had it. He was worried about lightning strikes."

"Then it's probably still good." Heather turned in Jake's arms and hugged him for sheer relief. "If we don't have it available, we'll make it! Batteries will still work, and simple circuits. The unused, packaged components will still be okay, since they're all inside. At least most of them will." She leaned back and looked up at Jake, able to smile, even though her eyes were still watery.

"And there are some simple radios that can be made with things as basic as straight-razors and some string," he added. "Read about them in some of Dad's military history books. Guys were in the trenches making those in WWI." Jake smiled back at her, amazed at her yet again. He didn't stop to think. If he did, he never would have had the nerve. He leaned down and kissed Heather, lost in the moment.

The instant his lips touched hers, they lost any sense of where they were and who was watching them - which ended up being most of the town. Heather melted into him, their bodies molding together as they continued the kiss long past the time general public cared to see such things.

Johnston coughed and Gail elbowed him. "Behave," she hissed. "Who better to celebrate the possibilities than the young ones?"

"But in the middle of the street?" he grouched back. There were some things he absolutely did not want to know about his son's love life. He was simply relieved that he hadn't become a grandfather sixteen years ago after he'd walked in on Jake and Emily, mostly undressed and certainly not playing Yatzee. The next day he'd collared Jake and told him the entire Green Sex Lecture, as inherited from his own father. It was a total of three short sentences: Be careful. Wear a condom. If she gets pregnant, marry her. Considering Jake's rather imprudent nature, Johnston had added a fourth sentence. "And for God's sake, don't let your mother find out, or we'll both catch hell."

Jake didn't care about anything. They may be at war, they may be firing off nuclear missiles, they may be back at frontier technology again as of 9:02 p.m., but on October 15 at 9:05 p.m., he'd kissed Heather Lisinski. And she was even more amazing than he'd thought she would be.

J*J*J*J*J*J

At Jonah's, Stevie called out for help in the radio room. Aylah and Jonah came running.

"It fried, Boss!" Stevie said, frantic. "It's just gone! There's nothing! See?" He turned motioned to the lights that should be glowing a pleasant green or an unfriendly red, but were completely dark. "I swear I didn't do anything! I swear!"

"I know, Stevie. If I thought you had, I'd've already done something about it," Jonah said, his voice calm only because he didn't want to terrify Stevie. "Aylah-"

"On it, Big J," she said, popping the cover off the nearest panel. "I'm gonna need some serious light."

"Stevie, whatever she needs, whatever tools, you get it for her, okay?" As the man nodded, he turned back to Aylah. "I'm going to check the CBs. Maybe we can raise the guys on the sets in the trucks."

Aylah didn't reply. She was busy wondering what had zapped the compound, since she'd taken them off the grid days ago.


	15. The Days After: 14, 15, & 16

**On a Dark Horse-17A**

Novellas/Chapters

**Timestamp:** Bombs + 14 (midnightish), 15, 16

_**Warnings: **_ _**Yes**_**.** **M**ature **A**udiences **O**nly. Violence, immediate aftereffects of abuse. Graphic descriptions of abuse & torture. _Graphic does not mean "vague" here, people!_

**Disclaimer:** If you haven't figured it out by now, NOT MINE. I can only wish...

Aylah managed to get the radio fixed by cannibalizing an older radio that had been put in a filing cabinet. She heard static on the over channels and a green light was glowing, making it clear that the transmitter/receiver was actually working again. The fix wasn't pretty, but it would do until she got a chance to get into the supply lists and consult with Dave, the electronics guru of Jericho.

Using the CB, Jonah had managed to contact D'Shea. He'd gotten more information and was heading back toward the compound.

"No idea what caused this, Big J. I need to check the other systems here. Can you leave someone to help me? Anyone?" She looked into Jonah's eyes and saw he was thinking. "I can deal, if I have to. I'll get Skylar and some of the other kids to-"

Jonah put his finger on her lips. "You'll need to. We need to be ready, which means I've got to rest before D'Shea gets back. Do you need to do this now?" he asked. He hadn't told her what he was expecting when D'Shea and the others returned.

"No," she said, thinking carefully. "We always disconnect everything when we close up. That's what took us twenty minutes to get to town. We unplugged everything." She looked up at him, worried now. "What's going on?"

"Come with me," he said, taking her back to his room. Once there, he took off his coat and stretched out, patting the bed next to him to indicate she should join him. She laid down beside him and put her head on his chest, letting him hold her. He mentioned that something could start tonight that may take him away from town for a few days. Aylah didn't ask questions. When it came to Jonah's absences, she'd learned over the years not to ask anything, since he'd invariably answer her. She'd worked hard to develop a conscience of sorts, and she didn't want to have that little bit chipped away by knowing about Jonah's activities.

Instead of speaking, she curled into him, closing her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd prayed, but she found herself doing just that. They slept lightly until the knock on the door woke them. It was D'Shea.

"Boss?" he asked, opening the door.

"Here," Jonah said, pulling away from Aylah and sitting up. She raised up on the bed behind him. "I'll be in there in a minute," he added. D'Shea nodded and closed the door.

"Jonah," Aylah said, her voice anxious. She wasn't touching him, wasn't clinging to him, but he could understand what she needed to hear.

"I'll be back, Aylah," he said, turning. He put one arm around her, dragging her to the side. As he watched, the anxiety didn't leave her eyes. She was here, in Jericho, and even though she was finding her place, she couldn't let go of the terrorized child she'd been. "You can do this," he said. He kissed her gently, taking the time to reassure her.

When he pulled back, she was breathing easily, her eyes calmer. He brushed her hair with his hand, and stood. They didn't say goodbye. She didn't get up to follow him, to find out what was happening. When she heard the door to the main office close, she stood and walked to the window.

Jonah was getting into the RoadRunner, Mitch driving. He had weapons with him, and a working radio.

What she noticed most, though, was that Jonah had forgotten his coat.

Jonah ignored the bite of the cold. There was a jacket in the car, which was just fine for later. For now, though he was getting everything he could about the terrain, which involved a flashlight and an old hunting map of the area they'd tracked the men into.

They drove out within six miles, which was close for the group. Two cars and two large trucks, a total of seventeen men, not including Jonah. With surprise and terrain on their side, they shouldn't have any difficulties. Jonah got the men around them and talked over the plan he'd formed on the drive out. It helped that he knew the area from hunting trips, not that much hunting had been done, but it had been a convenient excuse to carry weapons with him and leave town for an unspecified length of time.

"Here's the area," Jonah said, pointing to a cabin some of the men knew. "They're in here, number unknown. Expect guards here, here, and here," he said marking three spots for the most likely places to put a nightwatch, if they were that careful. "Hopefully, they're stupid and won't have a watch out, or have an idiot out smoking or the guards are huddling around a campfire. If they're smart, though, we can expect two on each of these points and a roaming patrol." He looked around. "Anyone have recent information about the cover?"

An old grizzled man who was an avid hunter and never bought meat if he could avoid it spoke up. "Got four good routes, if you've got good sense of direction and steady feet. Two others, if there's anyone here can move quiet-like." He traced out two fairly easy routes that had good cover, explaining the exact nature of the concealment. The other two were to be left to experienced woodsmen only. There were six of those, including Jonah.

"All right. We get in close. Make sure there are no metallic noises, nothing shiny showing. Keep your hats and hoods on. Make sure the shadows are on your faces. Noah, take two and go down the first route. Mitch and two others, second route. You'll be able to see the front door - don't screw it up, I don't care who or what is at the door. Billy, third route, take D'Shea and Leon. You've got a window. Dave," he addressed one of the men from town, "take the fourth route. I'll take the first alternate, you," he pointed to the hunter, "take the second alternate." He looked around. "Here's the hard part. We have no way of communicating with each other once we're in position. We get in place, and we wait. We watch. We want information before we go in there, and we can't rush it." He looked around. "You all know the drill-you go in blind, you get hurt or dead. If anyone's left in there, and it's possible there's a girl in there, we don't want them hit."

"Been in combat, Jonah. Know the rules. Couldn't forget 'em if I tried." This from another man, a few years older than Jonah.

"I know. You know. We can't afford to forget, because this isn't a SWAT team or a hostage rescue squad. We've got the know-how, but this is the first run. We watch tonight. We watch tomorrow, as long as we can. If we have to get someone out of the way, we try to take them alive."

Mitch snorted. "First a woman, now this? What the hell, Jonah?" He locked Jonah in a staring contest.

Jonah gave him a look from wintery eyes. "You can't get information from a corpse, Mitchell. Unless you've got some sort of powers you haven't bothered to tell us about? Something Biblical. Resurrection, maybe?" Mtchell broke the stare first. "Any questions?"

"If they open fire on us?" This from the hunter again.

"If they're just screwing off, stay low and ignore it. If they've spotted you and are trying to kill you, make it clean and try to time it to sound like one of their guns, if possible. If not, make it a single-shot." He looked around. "I'm not betting on any discipline here. If they had any discipline, they wouldn't have killed the father and brother, or raped the wife on roadside. Bodies generate questions. No bodies, no questions."

Speculative looks went Jonah's way. He knew what they were thinking-those words sounded like the voice of experience. Better to leave it there, since no one present was foolish enough to actually question Jonah's expertise in the fine art of killing.

J*J*J*J*J*J

It felt like the jungle again. 1966, Da Nang. His skin crawled as he remembered the heat, the humidity, the snakes. The enemy, unseen in the landscape. Forty years, and it was all back. Now. He tightened his jaw and crept forward, placing each foot with care, making sure to brush any sticks or twigs aside before sliding his foot into position.

Shotgun in his hand again, just like then. Don't get caught - VC hated shotgun soldiers more than almost any other. Wouldn't last an hour with what they'd do - but it wasn't Vietnam. He was in Kansas. Twenty-five miles outside of Jericho on a back road that no one particularly cared about. No one except the people who lived here.

And this time, they weren't expected. VC were always watching, paranoid beyond reason. For a good reason, but still - they made Ivan look like a blind old granny the way they watched. Waited. He'd rather fight the Russkies. He'd killed a few of those in Vietnam, too, not that anyone on any side would admit it. Vietnamese don't grow that tall, that pale, or that fucking loud in the bush. Soviet advisors, though, did.

Jonah cut his eyes back and forth across the landscape, remembering how to see clearly in the dark of night. Don't look at what you want to see - look to the side. There! No. Tree branches. Slow the breathing again. Good. Closer. Light - the cabin. There. Don't look at the light. Can't lose night vision. How long? Not sure. Doesn't matter.

Settle in, ease down. Take a good bit of cover. Check the surrounds.

Good. Easy target. No guards. Wait? What was that?

Jonah closed his eyes and held on to his impulses. Those were muffled screams.

The girl was in there.

To get her out, he had to wait. Listen. Know what was happening to her. What? Another voice, high-pitched. The meaty sound of leather hitting bare flesh.

More than one.

He heard one of the men behind him take in a shaky breath. He looked up, trying to find the angle of the moon. Six hours until sunrise.

It was going to be a long, long night.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Aylah tossed and turned in bed. She wanted Jonah there beside her. But he was out, fulfilling his end of the agreement she'd hammered out for him.

What had she been thinking?

"Jonah," she whispered, choking back the tears. She ached to call him, pick up the radio or phone and hear his voice, soothing her again. She knew she couldn't, so she curled up and waited for morning to come.

J*****=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+*****J

{bombs + 15}

Six men, not well-organized. That was the information they got from the hell of hearing the screams in the night. The laughter and the beatings.

Six men. Fairly well armed, but they handled their weapons like movie-stars. They were acting tough, the big men with the big guns.

Okay, so the guns were automatic weapons. Jonah was betting they'd go for full-automatic - rock'n'roll. Amateurs do that. Movies show that. Lots of show, not much use in reality. A double-barrelled shotgun, a good rifle, those were weapons of choice.

Jonah smiled as he backed out of his position and crept down to the cars again. They had to get under cover until the next night. Then, if everything remained the same, they'd take them all.

His hands caressed his shotgun, the wood and steel, the distinctive lines and curves of the trigger guard, the grip, the barrel, the stock.

Oh, this would feel _good_.

J*****=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+*****J

{bombs + 16}

Jonah listened to what everyone had to say about their positions. They sent the hunter and a good friend of his back to watch the cabin and find out how they moved during the daylight hours. Just after dark, the men returned with their observations.

Close to midnight, they snuck back to the cabin on those same routes. They'd wait in their groups, each man taking a watch as they waited for the morning hours to come nearer. While one watched, the others would sleep and eat enough to stay alert.

Again, no guard was set. There was no bathroom plumbing at the cabin, just a water pump according to the hunter, and one of the men had been smart enough to think of digging a latrine. They did it badly and didn't care for it properly, but it was the only 'bathroom' the men had available, so the rank pit was considered perfect position to catch some of them. They waited, and one of the men left the cabin at an odd hour. D'Shea caught him on the way to the latrine, knocked him out.

D'Shea bound and gagged the unconscious man, putting him well out of sight behind the logpile. With any luck, D'Shea thought, a brown recluse would take exception to being disturbed and take out its irritation on the bastard from the cabin.

The men were recovering from a night of drinking and debauchery. It was obvious they believed they were safe as they stumbled out of the cabin, neglecting to even look around to see where their buddy was. They were calling back and forth to each other, griping about the early morning, laughing about what they'd done the night before, and talking about what they hoped to find on the road that day.

They were walking to the trucks, a loose group. Hungover.

Jonah smiled and lifted his shotgun to his shoulder, carefully sighting on the one who'd pass right by him in a second. He felt more than heard the men to each side of him doing the same, drawing a careful bead on their targets, more distant, since they had hunting rifles.

Without warning, Jonah fired. A red mist exploded from the man's gut and he went down screaming.

One of the men managed to pull his AK-47 around and start firing - on full automatic, of course. Jonah cursed as one of the shells ricocheted, catching him in the arm. The man went down with fifteen different holes in him.

It was over in seconds, but they had to check the cabin. Jonah waited while the hunter and his buddy checked his arm and tied off the wound with a strip of cloth. He'd have to have that looked at, at least by the medic they'd managed to get to go with them.

Jonah and the others walked to the cabin, no one taking a direct, uncovered path. No one ignored windows or the back door. He safed the shotgun and propped it to the side of the door, well out of arm's reach. He unholstered the .45 automatic pistol and lifted it easily. This wouldn't bother his bicep too much, since he was right handed and the left, for this firearm, was more of a balance and to help recover from the recoil.

D'Shea opened the door quickly and three of them swarmed inside. What they saw made them gag.

Seven girls, ranging in age from fourteen to nineteen, were bound in poses out of the Kama Sutra from Hell. They were obviously in agony, but they were too injured to care anymore. Open wounds bled into the floor. Two girls were sitting in pools of blood. They were the youngest.

One of the girls opened her eyes and saw the three men standing there with guns. She started screaming, shrill, high-pitched shrieks of pure terror.

Most of the other girls woke or became aware of others when the girl started screaming. They cowered as Jonah lowered the weapon and walked over to them, slowly.

The one that was screaming tried to get away from him, but she ended up dislocating her own shoulder in the process. The others whimpered and began cringing away from him. He looked at the girls who were bleeding the most, sitting in blood. One of them was in very bad shape. Neither one of the youngest girls were moving, and both were obviously in shock.

He didn't look away as he reached down and felt for a pulse. "CORPSMAN!" he yelled, then corrected for the others "MEDIC!" Footsteps came, loud and fast. He searched for the keys to the handcuffs, but didn't see them. The cuffs were so tight that the girls' hands were nearly purple.

Instead, he pulled out his keyring and shook the keys away from the pins he kept on the ring. With miraculously steady hands, he worked the lock. It took a minute, but he got the cuffs open. The girl fell over, not even moaning when she fell against him.

He lifted her carefully and carried her to the bed. "Mitch!" he snapped, turning to the door. "Noah!" The two men ran in after the medic, who was now hovering over the girl on the bed. "Find the keys to the handcuffs. Blankets. Warm water. Clothes. Get the others on it."

Jonah turned and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Mitch asked, bending to search the floor by the bed.

"To see if anyone out there is still alive," Jonah replied, his voice expressionless. He would not let this pass. He hadn't before. He wouldn't now. There was something in his voice that made even Mitch shudder.

Noah found a key and walked slowly over to the girls, who were still whimpering, more were starting to scream and cry now, begging for mercy. He didn't speak. If he opened his mouth, he'd throw up. Instead, he started uncuffing the girls, hands shaking so hard he could barely work the locks.

He'd had a daughter about fourteen once. She'd died in a wreck with her mother and little brother. Noah'd started drinking then, couldn't hold job. Then he'd found the man who'd killed his family, a powerful man's son. Nothing had happened to the boy. Until Noah found him. That had put Noah in prison for a while, and when he got out no one would hire him. So he started drifting from one bad business to another. Most recently, he'd found Jonah's place about four years ago. Settled in. He'd been thinking about moving on, seeing Mitch was getting ready to try to take over, but after the bombs everything changed. After the bombs, he'd been welcome in town as one of Jonah's crew. Now he was glad he hadn't gone to Denver, like he'd been planning.

Hell, if this could happen to these little girls, he wanted to be where he could do something about it. His hands weren't shaking as much now, and he didn't question why. Instead, he moved carefully from the younger girl to the oldest, uncuffing them and telling them to be careful and let the blood out of their hands. He showed the oldest how to massage the hand and wrist to get good bloodflow back, try to keep her hands from going black.

The oldest one got up and began to stumble to the door of the cabin, only to be stopped by the D'Shea with a blanket. She fought his arms folding the blanket around her, but he pulled her back and held her fast. In a minute she stopped struggling and started crying in deep, wracking sobs. He was careful with her, but he wanted her out of there. He had to say something. Anything. Anything to get her to _go._

"I'm not going to hurt you. It's cold out there." With that, he let her go, followed her out, and fell to his knees, retching.

Noah had moved the other young one over next to the girl the medic was looking over. As the bed dipped, the girl moaned, the first reaction she showed. Gritting his teeth, the medic found open wounds from a knife; she'd had their names carved into her back, thighs, and breasts. Then he found several deep burn scars, where they'd branded her, sometimes drawing a design with a running iron. There were deep teeth marks in her shoulders and breasts, her hips, one bleeding set of teeth marks half hidden by her pubic hair. Someone handed him the warm water he'd required and he began to wash the girl, putting off the last part of the exam as long as he could. Finally, he couldn't avoid it any longer. He spoke as he pushed her legs apart, not wanting to make this last long - not wanting to have to do it at all.

"Blood loss," he said to no one in particular. Talking like he was giving a report to a doctor was keeping him from running away, screaming. "Lots of it. Need to get her back to the med - oh, sweet Mother…" He turned and bolted for the door. Everyone watched as the former Army medic threw up.

"What is it?" Mitch asked, wiping his hands on his jeans. He'd just finished letting the girls loose, but only one had moved voluntarily, and she was outside, wrapped in a blanket, crying.

"Broken glass. Inside her." He looked over at Mitch and choked down the scream of pure rage he felt clawing at his throat, battling with the tears for the girl and the need to continue vomiting. "The sick fucks broke a liquor bottle and shoved it inside her, deep. Not even the base of the thing shows." He shook his head. "It'd be a mercy for her to go now…"

Jonah walked over. He'd heard. No one was speaking out here, and the few whimpers left weren't loud enough to drown out those words.

"Bring her out here," he said softly. "If there's no chance, bring her out here," he repeated, seeing the shock in the medic's eyes. He asked the question more clearly. "Can she survive?"

"N-no," he replied, shakily. "Too much blood lost, the trauma - we can't fix this in Jericho, if she could survive the drive. She's almost gone now. Almost past feeling pain."

Mitch heard this, then walked inside. He gently wrapped her in a blanket and lifted the girl from the bed. Mitch had gone bad, but he'd never seen anything like this. While he was in prison, he'd learned to survive in a hostile environment, but he knew the social order of those places. The men who'd done this wouldn't survive a year inside - not that they'd survived anyway. He thought of Emily, his best friend's sister, and fought to keep down his rations. Chris was gone, Jonah was still there, Mrs. Sullivan was long gone, she'd died a month after Chris. But Emily, the girl he'd wanted since high school - this could have been her at fourteen. In fact, he tried to forget that the woman-child looked a lot like Emily, down to the long blonde hair and wide, sweet mouth.

"You have to check the others, Doc," Jonah was saying to the medic. "You've been to war. You've seen more than this. Go back in there and do your job, Doc. I'll take care of everything else."

Mitch brought the girl over to Jonah. "Where, Boss?" he asked, not able to hide how much this bothered him. She was wrapped carefully in a blanket and Mitch held her like she was made of porcelain. Jonah looked at the younger man's face, into his eyes, and saw something there that he didn't think Mitch had in him. Rage, the desire to kill were there, but something else, softer, was hovering in there. Pity he didn't have time to figure out what it was.

"Hand her here," Jonah replied. "And nobody follows me."

Mitch waited just a moment, then gently transferred the girl into Jonah's arms. He looked into the cold blue and started to speak, then thought better of it. He didn't need Jonah to say what was about to happen. It was enough to know the man hadn't gone soft, hadn't learned to back down. For the past two weeks, it'd seemed like he had just rolled over for the town, but Mitch was learning there was more to the deal than had first been perceived. Sure it was good to go into town and not have to deal with the law circling him like sharks, but this…this was different. Jonah was more than hard. He was hardcore, even though there was a difference in what Mitch would've done and what Jonah was doing. Mitch didn't think he could go through with it, since the girl reminded him of Emily. As he watched Jonah turn and walk several yards away, behind a thicket of bushes, it occurred to him that the fact the girl looked like Jonah's daughter might actually make it easier to end the agony.

The hunter started to protest, but thought better of it from the way Jonah walked away, the younger hell-raiser letting him go.

Jonah could feel the strain in his arm, along his back. The girl was young, but she wasn't little. After kneeling with her and placing her feet on the ground, he brushed the matted, bloodstained hair from her face, the face the medic had so carefully cleaned. The bruises were evident, even though they'd never fully bloom into the horrible, black marks.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, propping her in his arms, half-cradling her as he lowered her gently to the ground. Just as her head touched the ground, the hand supporting her neck gave a sharp twist. There was a muffled crunch as her neck snapped, and a moment later, she sighed out a final breath. He waited a few moments, then checked her pulse. He carefully stroked her face, knowing there was no help for it, no way of changing what he'd done.

And she looked like Emily. God help him, she looked just like his baby girl.

"I don't know your name, sweetheart, but I'll find out. We'll put a marker here for you, come spring. We'll do everything we can for the others. You have my word, for what it's worth to you now." He smoothed the skin on her forehead one last time. With that, he stood, eyes dry, hands steady, nothing in his eyes except the desire for revenge.

"Hey boss?" came the question from his left. He turned. "What do you want us to do with him?"

Jonah almost laughed with delight. Wouldn't you know? One of the bastards had been taken alive, after all. He'd have to do something nice for D'Shea, leaving that man for him. He walked over to the captive, considering the question.

He thought back to the last time he'd dealt with someone so brutally abusive. Then he thought of Aylah's desperation, the brush with suicide she'd had.

He smiled. More than one man in the group saw that smile and felt a cold dread fill them.

Jonah did laugh then, a low, evil sound. Mitch stared at him, stepped back. Jonah knelt beside the man.

"Did you have fun with the girls?" he asked, his voice a soft, seductive murmur from hell. The man looked up at him with wild eyes. "No answer? Pity." Jonah gave him that shark smile, leaned down and whispered into his ear. "I'm sure they'll have fun with you."

Jonah stood and walked away, feeling the stares of the other men. He didn't - couldn't - care about that now. This was a time for healing, of sorts. The chance to return the attentions of one of their abusers would be the perfect gift for the girls. Bound, gagged. He considered the materials he had on hand. He saw broken glass on the ground, remembered that one of the cars had some plumbing supplies they hadn't unloaded from the transfer of the plumber's shop to Quaker Transport. If he remembered the box correctly, there were several things in there that could be used to make a man fully understand the error of his ways. Including an acetylene torch. Torch, glass, vise grips, various blades and saws, wrenches.

Yes, the girls could be very, very thorough.

J*****=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+*****J

Jonah walked over to the oldest girl, the medic having checked her over quickly and carefully. She was still shaking, terrified and wondering what was going to happen to her now. He squatted down next to where she was huddled on the grass, refusing to go back inside. Two of the other girls had been checked over and released. They were huddled together in a different spot.

"What's your name, kid?" Jonah asked, his voice just as soft as it had been the first time he'd ever asked that question of a traumatized child. Hell was memory - if only he could forget parts of his life…

"Christine," she whispered, her voice almost gone.

"Christine," he said softly, noticing she shook and wouldn't look up at him. "Look at me, sweetheart," he murmured. She flinched at the endearment. "No one here will hurt you again. I promise. But we need some information from you. How long were you here, the rest of the girls? Do you remember what happened to them? Is anyone pregnant? Bleeding too much? Broken ribs? Cracked skulls? Burns?" She swallowed and shook her head, but he kept speaking. "We need to know. We can send those girls back now, the ones that are worst off. But we don't know everything. I need you to help me now."

She nodded, gulping. "Worst one was Emma," she said, voice choking. "They hurt her bad last night. Did things…" she closed her eyes, unable to continue.

"Emma? Was she the one Mitch brought out?" At her nod, he spoke again, his words coming slow. "She didn't make it, Christine. I'm sorry."

"No. Better that way." She looked up at him finally. "She can't hurt anymore." Tears filled her eyes again and she dropped her head, began crying silently.

Jonah watched her for a few minutes, not offering to touch her. Finally, he looked over at the other girls, there were four of them now, huddled together to the side. The fifth one didn't come out. The medic did instead. Jonah looked at the man, who shook his head. No, the other young one hadn't made it. He'd get the rest of the information later.

"Christine? Who was the other young one, the one Emma's age?"

"Betina," she hiccupped. "Betina Crawford. Why?" She was talking to her knees.

"She didn't make it, either." He looked at her. "I'm sorry. She was in really bad shape, too."

"They were new. Both of them in the last three days. Innocent." She broke off, choking on the memories. "Wanted to take the branding iron and use it on those bastards," she said, the possibility of freedom making her terror lessen and the rage inside her build. Rage made her bold.

"Most of them are dead," Jonah said, "no use to you. But we do have one of them alive." He paused as she looked up, her brown eyes filled with hate. "Talk to the other girls. If you want him, he's yours. I'll even hand you the tools."

"Yes," she hissed. He saw the desire for revenge in her eyes.

"There's a price that goes with it," he said, watching her become wary again at his words. "Not from me, but it'll cost you to do this. Are you willing to pay that price, live with it?" He'd asked this of Aylah, too. She'd still leapt at the chance.

"It's worth it," she said. "I can't…can't…" She closed her eyes and looked back at him, the rage in her dimmed enough for her to think again. Her thoughts were dark, unexpected from a girl not even twenty by his guess. "I don't care what happens after. I just need to get rid of him. Of them."

"Go talk to the others. You'll want to go inside for this," he held up a hand as she started to object. "I know you don't want to go back in there. Trust me. You'll want to be able to tie him down. Keep him at a convenient height." The practical, factual voice was not what the girl had expected. She'd expected to get some sort of psychological explanation about facing her fears. This man wasn't like that, apparently. Then again, that was the voice he'd used the entire time, except when he was telling her about Emma and Betina. She looked at him, responding to that practical, even voice. Jonah was pleased when she nodded. He'd send everyone back to town that wasn't willing to stay. If the girls were well enough to do this, he'd let them.

As it was, he was not looking forward to getting them into the trucks after they got to vent their pain and rage on one of their captors.

J*J*J*J*J*J

An hour later, the cabin had been cleaned up, the bodies dropped into the make-do latrine, and Jonah had gotten Mitch to help him get the last of the highwaymen into the cabin.

"What the hell, Jonah?" he asked, not knowing what Jonah had promised the girls.

"Get the other cuffs," Jonah said, ignoring the question. "And bring the toolkits from the trucks. Get Noah to get the chains, too."

"Not until you tell me what's going on," Mitch said, not wanting to anger Jonah - not in this mood - but not sure what was about to happen.

Jonah gave the younger man a long look. "You ever heard of rough justice, Mitchell?" he asked, his voice almost too soft to hear. At the answering nod, Jonah smiled. "Well, today you'll get the chance to see it in action." The message hadn't gotten through. "I'm giving this bastard to the girls." Hooded blue eyes stared at Mitchell in the dim cabin. "You staying? Or going?"

Mitch stared at Jonah, felt an odd combination of rightness and fear. He couldn't speak. Instead, he turned and walked to the truck to get the tools and chains.

Thinking of those girls, what they'd been through - he wanted to be part of the revenge. He'd seen some rough things. Been in bad places. But this was different. Those girls were young enough to be his little sisters. What was he going to do? He had the trip to the truck and back to decide.

Jonah extended the same choice to every man there. All but five of the men decided to go wait down the road until Jonah called for them. The hunter took Jonah aside for a minute.

"I know what you're doing, Jonah," he said softly. "I even approve. But I can't watch nothin' like this again. Seen too much of it in 'Nam. If anyone asks, I'll back you on this. Just can't see it done."

Jonah nodded, understanding the nature of the problem. He'd given up on that fine distinction years ago. "That's fine. I'd rather that the method of execution be left in doubt. No one needs to know what these girls will be doing, and they'll recover better if they don't have to deal with everyone knowing, either." He paused for a second. "Where were you?"

"Phuoc Long Province," came the short answer. "Army."

"Da Nang & Saigon," Jonah replied. "Marines."

The hunter looked at him a long minute. "Name's Avery Miller. Good to know ya." He held out his hand. "Don't need to introduce yourself, though. Think everybody in town knows you on sight."

"Good to know ya," Jonah replied, taking his hand and shaking it. "Ain't notoriety a bitch?"

Avery laughed and shook his head. When he walked away, he called the other men with him. They were going out to look for any other associated groups, since the oldest girl had mentioned that these guys were in occasional contact with some other people, but she'd never gotten the chance to find out who.

Christine had been there the longest - for over two months. She'd been taken on the road on her way home from Rogue River. She didn't remember the man who stopped her and took her, but she knew his voice. She'd told Jonah that much since she'd started talking, just a little here and there, almost at random. He knew it was her way of checking on reality - if this was just a fantasy. Aylah had done the same thing more than once in those months after her release from the hospital. He didn't have to ask for more. He didn't need to ask her anything. He already knew the answers, the ones that mattered, anyway.

Jonah turned and walked back to the cabin. He looked at the men who'd decided to stay. Mitch was there, trying to look like he knew what he was doing, as was Leon. Noah was there, which surprised Jonah, since he knew the man didn't particularly like extreme forms of violence. One man who had a teenaged daughter decided to stay, but Jonah didn't know his name. The last was D'Shea. He was pale, a little shaky, but the look in his eyes was determined. If these women - they couldn't be called girls anymore - could endure weeks of torture, Jonah would allow them the chance to lance their wounds.

He wasn't concerned about what they would do. The man would die anyway. That was a given. How far they decided to take it would depend entirely on them. Some of them the ones who had been there longer, would probably be more inclined to stay and keep going, even if the other girls stopped. Of them all, Jonah was concerned most about Christine. After this, she would have to be carefully cared for. He hoped that Green girl had a strong stomach.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Giving the girls time to clean up and get dressed in whatever was convenient took a little more time than Jonah had liked. He looked around.

"Wait," he said as the girls started to get close to the bound man. Five pairs of startled, angry, scared eyes turned his way. "Put these on," he handed the girls heavy gloves and some plumber's shirts from one of the toolboxes. When they just kept staring at him. "Or sit in bloody clothes on the drive to the clinic." Without speaking, the girls put the gloves and shirts on. It wasn't much, but it was something.

They approached their prisoner, Jonah and the other men taking a place along the wall. None of them moved for a long time. Finally, one of the girls reached over and slapped him.

The man had been laying there, scared and unsure with these hard men watching him, tying him down. When the little girl slapped him though, he laughed.

It was the stupidest possible thing he could have done.

Rage sparked in green eyes as one girl snarled. "I hate that laugh," and picked up a hammer. She brought it down on his mouth, knocking out several of his teeth and chipping the bone of his upper jaw.

Trisha looked at her hand, holding the hammer. She'd hit the bastard. And he'd howled. And it had felt so good. She didn't realize it until the second shock went through her arm. She was systematically knocking out every single one of his teeth. She broke his jaw in the process, but that was simply collateral damage.

When she'd started, Christine, the one who'd suffered the most in the last weeks from this man, since the others had gone for younger meat, had cut open his jeans and gave him an evil smile. Carefully, she teased him, knowing exactly how. They'd forced her to learn. Then she took a knife and the blowtorch, heating the knife to red-hot in the flame. With a quick, careful movement, she removed the most hated part of his anatomy.

It was disappointing when he passed out. He didn't feel the careful application of various blades and other tools to his body immediately, but he woke up again when one of his fingers was cut off with a pipe-cutter. He passed out when his kneecaps were shattered with a one-and-a-half inch auger bit and the cordless drill.

He was awake, moaning and sobbing in pain, when one of the girls found broken pieces of a liquor bottle and looked carefully at the blowtorch.

"Let me see the torch, Chrissy," she said, her voice oddly sweet.

"Sure," Christine handed her the torch and everyone paused to watch her. They hadn't been very inventive, really. Yanking out fingernails, cutting off fingers, breaking ribs, ball-and-socket joints, fairly common techniques. "What are you thinking, Anne?"

"I've been an apprentice to a glassblower for the past two years. Have you ever touched hot glass?" Several heads nodded, and all of those had long hair. Jonah watched, impassive, as some of his men had left to throw up over the past six hours. Oddly, the father and Noah had both stayed. "Well, one of the warnings we all get is what happens when molten glass touches skin. There is no way to stop it. It will burn through flesh and to the bone." She took a pair of pliers and held the large shard over the man's testicles. The she took the blowtorch and started heating the glass. After several seconds, the glass began to glow red, then to elongate. When the first large bead dropped, every eye in the room watched the descent.

An agonized, high-pitched shriek issued from the man as he bowed up against the pain. The hair caught fire and spread from what was left of his privates to his legs and stomach. Another bead fell, the girl carefully moving the glass and the torch to a new spot and, even with his bones broken and his bruises and cuts causing more pain, the man fought the restraints in an attempt to curl up and protect himself. He wasn't that lucky.

The girls watched, then looked around the room for more glass. Anne showed them how to hold the torch and the glass.

Even Jonah shuddered at the unholy joy in their eyes as they slowly burned the man alive.

J*J*J*J*J*J

The girls tired of the games they were playing. One by one, they broke away and went outside to wait. Each girl was accompanied by one of the men, simply to make sure they were safe. The men didn't try to touch the girls, didn't move close to them, but stood there, silent guards that were oddly appreciated.

Christine waited until the last girl was gone. What was left of her nightmare was a smoking, mewling hunk of meat. She looked at the most hated portion of his anatomy, still long and hard, since she had carefully cauterized the bloody end.

"I will never forget," she whispered, forgetting Jonah was there, "what you did with this. How much you hurt m - -us. How proud you were of your size. I'm done with you, as soon as I do this." She took his broken, toothless mouth and opened it with pliers. Then she stuffed the heavy, dead organ deep into his mouth, down his throat. She watched with Jonah and Mitch as the man finally suffocated on his own penis.

She didn't look around. Didn't show any form of remorse. Christine turned around and walked to the door, head high, certain the worst of her nightmares were over.

Jonah and Mitch waited until she was gone, then walked over to what was left of the man.

"Take that side," Jonah said, lifting the blanket soaked with various bodily fluids. "We'll carry him out to the others. In the cesspit."

Mitch nodded and lifted his side of the blanket. They carried the corpse out past the men and girls and pitched him into the makeshift latrine. No one seemed to be overwrought by the abrupt burial. Then they turned to find shovels to bury the two girls into a pleasant, pretty little grove nearby. The girls watched as the men took turns digging the graves. No one complained about the effort it took.

"Emma Smith and Betina Crawford," Jonah said. He paused, thinking of what to add. "Hell on Earth visited them, but couldn't hold them. Rest in peace, ladies."

"Amen," a low voice murmured from one side, staring at the mounds. It was near sunset now. Jonah wanted to know what happened to the men who were out on the roads. He left the graves, making sure Leon noted the exact location on the map. When they could, he'd have gravestones brought out here. Something simple. The rest of the men backed off, letting the girls, who had been watching from a distance, come say their goodbyes. When they'd walked far enough away, they could still hear the girls talking to their fellow prisoners and crying softly.

Jonah saw Noah lift a working radio. He came over and waited while the man tried to get in touch with the group watching the road. There was a long-delay before anyone answered. It was Avery Miller, speaking quickly and quietly. The sound of gunfire popped in the background.

"Be there soon," Avery's voice came over the radio. "Got a little problem we're almost done solving."

"Understood. Walking to the road." Noah walked over to Jonah and gave him the news. Jonah shook his head.

"We're not moving. I want two men on each side of the cabin, one here at the door. We're going to take the girls farther back into cover and keep out of sight. Call back for them to announce their presence. Make it a hello from Saigon." Noah looked confused. "Just give me the damn radio," Jonah sighed. The man was generally quicker on the uptake.

"Belay that last," Jonah said lifting the radio to his mouth. "Injuries?"

"Negative." There was a pause, then Avery came back on the radio. "Busy here. May be another hour. Over."

"Not a problem. Look around your AO before you come. Find everything useful. Track 'em. When you've cleaned up, come on in, calling all Saigon. Over."

"Understood, Six," came the reply. "Will sound the welcome." One last shot echoed over the open connexion. "Heading your way after cleanup. Out."

Jonah returned the radio to the surprised man at his side. He didn't explain.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah took note of the time. It was getting very, very late. Avery had come up the drive, honking the first bars of "The Marines Hymn". Jonah snorted. Army. Never could follow directions. He looked at the sky, then at the men who'd gathered around to discuss the situation. The girls were apart from them, watched, but free to move wherever they wanted. They wouldn't make it back tonight. Instead, he decided to move the group to a different location, closer to town. Before he could load the girls into the cars, he had to explain what was going on. He did not want another fight today. He was tired of looking at blood. Hell, he was just tired. They'd taken a two-hour rest each, splitting the time, but two hours hadn't been enough when he was a young man. He wasn't exactly twenty anymore.

"Look, we can't get you back tonight. Between today's activities here and the firefight out on the road, the town won't be ready to help you, or to listen. It's close to midnight." Again, Jonah's voice was calm and practical. He looked at Christine and the other girls. "There's a cabin, belongs to a friend of mine," Johnston was a friend, mostly. "You girls will sleep inside. We'll stay outside, let you get showered, take care of each other. We'll give you a medical kit, and only if you want help with something will any of us come inside."

"Leave us weapons," one of the girls, he thought it was Trisha, said, her voice shaky. "I'm not staying in another Goddamned cabin without something to defend myself."

Jonah looked at her and walked over to his shotgun. He'd propped it on against the RoadRunner, knowing he couldn't use it effectively with his arm torn up. Granted, it wasn't bad, but he was just as good with the .45.

"You know how to use this?" he asked, holding it up for her to see. She studied the firearm, eyebrows knitting as she looked. He pointed and explained, just to be sure. "Safety's here. Double-barrel, means two shots before you reload. To reload, you do this," he broke the action and popped out the shells, the popped them back in and closed the action. "Coloured end goes in first, metal toward you. Doesn't work the other way." He gave her a calm look. "Only aim at a person if you intend to shoot. Only shoot to kill." He grinned at her suddenly, surprising her. "And please ask for identification before you fire. My daughter would be irritated if you managed to shoot me."

"Would she be angry with us?" Trisha asked, emboldened by Jonah's willingness to hand her a weapon.

"Actually, she'd be angry with me. Probably refuse to pay the medical bills," he said dryly.

Trisha giggled. Christine chuckled. The other girls looked unsure. Jonah looked at the rest of the girls.

"How many of you can shoot?" Two more, Christine and Desdemona, the quietest of the group, indicated some familiarity with firearms. Christine requested a revolver, Desdemona a hunting rifle. Both were handed over with extra ammo.

"You ready to load up?" Jonah asked. The girls nodded, and he saw their strength and bravery was nearing the end for the night. "It'll be about ten minutes to get there." He looked them over. He didn't like the way they were looking at the cars and his men. He wasn't willing to push it tonight. There was just too much unpredictable emotion in the air. "Here," he said, handing Christine the car keys. "You drive the girls - you or someone who can handle my car. There's fifteen gallons in the trunk, too."

"Which one is yours?" Christine asked, staring at the keys. _Freedom._ He was handing them weapons and freedom. Why would someone who was just going to keep them in chains hand them the weapons and the keys to his car? That alone let them trust him. The girls had talked while they were in the woods, Jonah far enough away that they could whisper in secret. Discussions had centered around one thing: Trust. Could these girls trust eighteen men they'd never met before? So far, there had been no indication of any harm coming from these new males, but none of the girls was willing to work on faith. They were fresh out of faith. The final decision had been to wait and see what happened when the men got back from looking over the roads.

And this was what happened. They were going to a cabin, true, but they were armed, and if they chose they could keep going.

Jonah pointed to the RoadRunner. "That one," he said.

Christine looked at the car. It was a goer. She looked at the girls. The looked back and nodded.

"Okay. We'll stay together, and you lead us. We're the last car."

Jonah frowned. "Dangerous spot for you. Next to last, Mitch and I will ride drag." He looked at their confusion. "Last ones. If anyone's waiting on the way to the cabin, they'll come after us or the lead truck, not you."

Christine nodded, accepting this. She started for the car, not sure what to say. It had been too long since she'd had to use her social skills.

J*J*J*J*J*J

At the cabin, Jonah and his men posted a watch. The girls were inside, warm with the firewood the men had supplied, able to shower and use a proper bathroom. There were four beds to choose from. No one asked, no one noticed, but the girls curled up on the largest two beds, taking comfort and strength from each other.

Jonah slept outside, in his RoadRunner, the keys still inside with Christine.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

**A/N: **Any references to places, especially those I've made for the veterans from the Vietnam era, are names only. No details of battles, etc., will be provided. I have made the effort, however, to put the correct branches in the correct places. Examples will follow in the story, but I'm not getting specific with the regiment/battlegroups. Again, it's fiction. Insert "roll with it" defense here.


	16. The Days After: 18

**On a Dark Horse-18**

Chapters/Novella

**Timeline:** Bombs + 18 (yes, some time was skipped)

**Warnings:** Language & generally embarrassing situation(s).

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Heather stared at her friend, amazed at the things Emily had just called Jake. It was too damned early for this drama. Why would she be so cruel? He was out here to help everyone, not just Jonah, and Emily's reaction had been way, way too much for an ex she was supposedly over.

Jake was obviously holding onto his temper as Emily called him a few names he'd never heard before. Considering that he'd been through boot camp and three years in the Army before his medical discharge for an irregular heartbeat, something that had only become apparent after he'd collapsed during the Ranger School physical fitness regimen, that was kinda hard to do. Nope - that was a new one, too. When had she gotten this mouth? But then she turned her attention to Heather.

"And I didn't want to believe that he'd gotten to you, too, Heather," she snarled, bitterness rolling from her tongue. "It's bad enough that Jake's back here, but you?" The blonde shook her head, obviously unhappy with her friend. "I'd thought better of you." With that, Emily turned and walked away, slamming the door to Jonah's office behind her.

Emily headed to her father's room, angry and hurt enough that she didn't care what he was doing. She pounded on the too-familiar door and yelled, "Jonah! Damn you, open the door!"

Aylah spoke as she came up behind Emily. She was walking back to the room she shared with Jonah for his coat, he'd forgotten it when D'Shea woke him up to go after a raiding party that had killed a family on the New Bern-Topeka Junction, and she was cold. She hadn't asked, but Stevie had told them what was going on. Stevie wasn't made for the roughest parts of the job, so he continued working the radio and the shop. Jonah's black leather coat was as good as his presence on a day like this. Didn't help that she saw him through the window. He'd taken a sawed-off and a .45 with him, riding shotgun and radio with Mitch driving the RoadRunner.

"He's not here. He's been out on the highway since the EMP, risking his life to keep undesirable elements out of Jericho." Aylah came closer, then opened the door and pushed past Emily. "What are _you_ doing to help?"

That was where she left it, because Jonah had specifically stated he did not want Aylah to engage with his daughter. He'd been running hard enough for the past two weeks that she'd simply agreed. When everything had settled down again, she'd raise hell with him - and he with her. Until then, they agreed to live as quietly as possible with each other and to avoid stepping on the other's toes, if possible. If not, they'd deal with it when the time came.

Emily was speechless, and watched as Aylah stepped inside the room, closing the door behind her. She heard muffled voices coming down the hall, then a sharp word from Heather - it had to be Heather. She was the only soprano here. Then, the voice got louder and Emily heard her name.

"Emily Jean Sulllivan, I'd like to speak with you." When Emily didn't turn around to face her friend, Heather's voice sharpened. "Now."

Emily turned and faced an irate brunette. Jake was glowering behind Heather, but that was a familiar face. She and Jake had fought as much, or maybe more, than they'd made love. Or laughed.

"Heather, I don't see what-"

"No, you don't." Heather took a deep breath. That had come out even bitchier than she'd planned. "I'm sorry, Emily." Emily stared at her. Heather clarified. "I'm sorry that Jake's here, Roger's not, and you can't seem to forgive your father for choices he didn't make. I know you're hurting. I know you're angry that Roger's plane went down and that he hasn't come back yet. But you cannot take it out on Jake or Jonah."

Emily's surprised silence ended as she snapped back at Heather. "You have no idea what they're like. None. This has nothing to do with Roger. Can't you see what Jonah and Jake have done?"

"I see very clearly." Heather walked up to Emily and looked her in the eyes. "I know what I've heard around town. I know what you've told me, what others have told me - even what Jake and Jonah have told me. But I refuse to judge a man I didn't know before the attacks by things he did when everything was normal. I can only judge Jonah, Jake, Noah, Leon, and the rest of the guys by what they've done while _I've_ known them and by what _they've_ done in a time of crisis." Heather paused and took a deep breath. "Emily, from what I can see, they're some of the best men I've ever met."

A disbelieving stare from shocked blue eyes made Heather continue. "I know you're hurt. I know you're angry. But you have to stop living in the past, Emily. Whatever they were before," Heather was shaking her head, "they're not those men anymore." Heather swallowed, then continued on.

"On the day of the bombs, the field trip bus wound up in a ditch with the driver dead and my leg-" Heather left the sentence unfinished, but pointed down at the walking cast. "Less than a mile away a prison bus had crashed, and the convicts killed the sheriff and two deputies. They held you and Bonnie hostage. If not for Jake, Tracy would be dead and who knows what could have happened to the rest of us - to you and Bonnie. Jake flies reconnaissance runs twice weekly and is working on setting up a network of duster pilots from Jericho to start web of communication and trade with the closest towns.

"Jonah and his men set up one of the longest supply runs this town has seen since, well, ever, and they've only kept the things they can use to help the town. He's opened his garage to the school and the town so that the kids who have some working knowledge of tools and machines can come out here and learn from people who've done this work for years. We have every qualified mechanic and repair person in town coming through here, based out of these garages - including the town engineer and utility workers. Whatever parts the people need, yes, he trades for, but he doesn't take what they can't give. Most of the time, it's for them to take the time and learn the maintenance of whatever it is they needed repaired. Sometimes, it's more, but nothing they can't afford.

"Right now, he's on the highway, clearing out a band that Jake saw on the latest aerial, a group that's confirmed to be raiding vehicles twenty miles out of town. That confirmation came from D'Shea, one of Jonah's men. They killed a young boy and his parents. D'Shea found that out when he and three others went to check out the results of the highwaymen's work. There had been another child - a teenaged girl. She's gone. Not dead, gone. And Jonah's out there trying to find the monsters who did this, who took her. When he comes back, I'm not going to ask any questions, because whatever happened out there, well, it probably needed to.

"But that's not all. Jonah is part of the security group the mayor and council approved. They've set up a group of veterans to create a town security force - and Jake's been working on that schedule, too, while Jonah's been looking over training protocol. Noah has worked with the schoolkids more than anyone except Aylah or me, and he's a positive genius at matching the kids with their work - better than I am! Mitchell has turned out to be a great driving teacher, and he's working on the scheduling and rotation of town supply distribution that the driving students are doing. Leon, Billy, Stevie…they're all doing constant work. And…" Heather paused, her eyes pleading with Emily to understand, to listen. She finished up, quietly, resolutely. "These aren't the men you say you know. And if you can't see that, I'm sorry, Em, but I won't let you run them into the ground when you're the one who won't move on."

With those last words, Heather saw the sheen of tears in her friend's eyes, but she made no move to comfort the taller woman. Instead, she turned to join Jake at the other end of the hall and started when she saw Jonah standing by Jake, the rest of the men who'd come back from the highways behind them both. They looked like hell. Jonah had dark stains on his shirt and a bandage around his upper left bicep. The others didn't look any better - and D'Shea was missing.

Heather was surprised but refused to be intimidated by the sudden realization she'd had an audience, especially this one. Instead, she lifted her chin and faced them all, daring them to prove her wrong. Then she limped forward, going to Jake's side and standing in front of Jonah.

Jonah stared down at Heather, his eyes unusually warm. Then he looked up at Jake, then back down at Heather. He didn't say anything, but instead stepped up to the little brunette. He put a dirty, bruised knuckle under her chin and tipped her head up a bit more. He smiled down at her, kissed her forehead, and stepped aside. Jake nodded at Jonah, that little jerk of the head that men used around the shop for acknowledging each other. Jake put his hand low on Heather's waist and escorted her back to the garage where she was working on her truck, helping the students learn their way around the tools, and debating the various methods of mechanical and useful construction with whatever group of engineers and mechanics happened to around that day. The rest of Jonah's men, stepped aside, showing her in their own way that she was more than just Jake's woman or the nutty elementary teacher who happened to show up and use various odd talents for the benefit of all.

For Jonah and his men, for Jake, her defense of them had been made in spite of her knowledge of their pasts. The men knew that she'd been in town for three years. She'd heard any number of things about them, and they'd more than lived down to the town's expectations. No one who stayed in Jericho for more than a month went without being warned about Jonah and the men out at "the compound". Between the love of exaggeration gossips had and the time she'd been in town, they all knew that Heather had heard the worst of truth and lies about them all. To stand up to someone who had run with them, even tangentially because her boyfriend and then fiancée had been involved with Jonah's crew, and Jonah was her father? That made Heather _theirs_. Jake's woman, sure, but their little sister.

Emily watched, mortified, as her father stepped aside for Heather. He never stepped aside for anyone - not even Mayor Green. Not even her. When the rest of the men followed suit, tears pooled in her eyes and began to fall. The accusation that she was living in the past was true, as was the fact she was taking her rage at fate out on everyone around her - particularly her father and her ex-fiancée. She knew that, even before she'd come out to confront her father. It was having Heather, of all people, stand up and defend them all - and knowing Heather was right.

Heather walked down the hall with Jake's hand at her back, wondering if she'd just destroyed her friendship with Emily. The men walked behind them, leaving Jonah standing alone in the hall with Emily. Emily saw his expression change from warmth as he watched Heather and Jake walk away to a cold disappointment when he looked at her. Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Aylah, who'd remained next to the door during Heather's rather loud defense of Jonah, opened the door to see Emily sitting curled up against the wall, sobbing. Forgiveness wasn't in Aylah, any more than it was in Jonah. She carried Jonah's leather jacket to him, moving quickly and quietly to catch up to him. It wouldn't be appreciated by that taciturn man, nor would it be easy for her to tell, but on the walk to give Jonah his coat, she decided it was time Emily knew a little bit more about the father she'd demonized for so long. Now all she had to do was convince Jonah that she was right. Again.

This time, though, she doubted he'd be so willing to be patient. This time, Aylah was talking about his relationship with his daughter, the last living member of his family.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Jonah was in the shower, nursing a headache worse than he could remember, even that time waking up in Mayor Green's barn after polishing off a bottle with Johnston the night before Johnston had gone for boot camp.

He had just finished an argument with Aylah about Emily, never his favourite subject, even on good days. That was when the headache had started. Aylah was one of the two people in the entire compound that had the guts to actually get into a physical confrontation with him, and she'd slapped him when he told her to fuck off. So much for a peaceful night. Then had to explain to Stevie that no, it wasn't okay for him to hang around with the high school kids. He'd informed Skylar that no, she wasn't staying at her house, five injured girls and a few senior citizens were, because she was staying at the office in Emily's old room. Damn, but the girl could get shrill. That lovely little drama had ended with Skylar calling him several names he didn't think she understood and slamming the door. A day that had begun with promise, delivering the girls to the medical center and coming back to hear Heather defending him and his boys had, in the past two hours, become worse than he expected. The last conversation, to use the term loosely, one of the most infuriating twenty minutes he'd spent with any of his men had concluded with telling Mitch to go to hell for bitching about being in the training group with Marcus Clarind, which included Emily, who hated them both with a passion. He'd offered to shoot Mitch himself, if that would make the boy feel better about it. Mitch had declined with a few shouted curses both men definitely knew the meaning of and stormed out of Jonah's office.

He'd gone to his room, needing and wanting a shower so much he would strangle the next person who got in his way. Once there, he found that Aylah had commandeered the shower and was planning to stay there indefinitely. With the door locked. Instead of replacing the bathroom door, which would be the result of him breaking the damned thing down, he'd grabbed a change of clothes and headed down the hall. No one had tried to talk to him on the way, which was a good thing.

The next person who walked in had better be the bearer of wonderful fucking news. Or else.

There was no knock on the door. He had just reached down to turn the water off when the door opened. He stepped out of the shower - not even the shower in his own rooms, but the one down in the hall where the guys stayed - and roared at the intruder.

"What the hell do you want?" He turned around, towel forgotten in the sudden haze of anger that flooded him.

A wide-eyed Heather was standing there, pure shock on her face.

"Oh! I…there…we…" Her eyes dipped down, and stayed there for a long beat. She blinked, then her eyes travelled back up his body, noting the scars and the USMC tattoo on his right arm. She licked her lips, then blushed a crimson that matched her red Georgia Tech sweatshirt. "It can wait!" she squeaked, then turned tail and ran.

Jonah watched as the plucky little brunette rushed out of the room like he was the seventh demon of Hell. Then he groaned, leaning his forehead against the wall.

It was a good thing the door had slammed shut behind the girl.

Jonah Enoch Prowse had just learned that, yes, indeed, he could still blush.

J*J*J*J*J*J

In the hall, Heather buried her head in her hands and tried to breathe normally. That was where Jake found her on his search for Jonah.

"Heather?" he asked, concerned.

"Mmblemmmleb." She replied, face still in her hands, ears and visible skin, all the way down to her collar, still burning red. Oh, but the man was still well-built. Nice muscles, no gut - a six pack, even. And when the tension in his body when he'd yelled - no,no,no,no! She was not thinking like that about him!

"Okay…" He waited, then decided that he'd just ask her his question. "Have you seen Jonah?"

Jake couldn't understand why she squawked looked up at him with huge blue eyes before blushing even harder. Then he heard her.

"Uh-huh," she managed. "All of him." She was nearly purple.

Jake's eyebrows knitted for a moment, then the meaning dawned on him. He started to chuckle. Heather shoved him against the wall, mumbling something that sounded like 'that's not funny', as he wrapped his arms around her.

He kissed the top of her head.

Oh, yes, it was. But wait…why was she blushing so hard? She hadn't blushed that hard when she'd seen him in the med center…

He actually asked.

She was exasperated enough to answer him.

"He looks damned good, Jake. Nice...build," she said, not able to look up at him. And he had nothing to be ashamed about in the showers. Nope, not him. But Jake didn't need to know that. He also didn't need to know the spike of envy she felt, knowing that Aylah was getting to play with all of that. And Jake was built a lot like Jonah, she recalled. In another twenty years, would he look as fit? She nearly drooled with the thought, then blushed again.

Jake blinked. Heather? Attracted to Jonah? No. Couldn't be. Then why would she be blushing like that? No way. Jonah was old enough to be his father - literally.

What the hell?

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	17. The Days After: 20

**On a Dark Horse-19**

Chapters/Novella

**Timeline:** Bombs + 20

**Warnings:** Unique parenting style. Not suitable for, well, anyone, really…The style, not the writing.

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Jonah sat in his office, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation enhanced by bourbon. Despite the fireworks of two days ago, these two days had hummed along like a well-tuned machine.

Skylar was pouting, but she was still attending the morning lecture with Miss Maddie, the research sessions. She wasn't working in the garage for her practicals, but had moved to the mine to assist Carmichael. The report he'd gotten back from the man who'd brought her home, a miner he'd worked with for several years and was difficult to please, was that the little girl was one hell of a manager. She knew the mine, the products, and decided to change their production a bit. Turned out the girl had learned the many variants of the salts and kept a running tally of the tonnage produced each quarter. He'd have to ask her what she wanted to do later. Johnston would have to approve it, but Johnston wasn't a miner. He expected a question from his old friend within the next week or so.

Emily hadn't been seen for the past two days, and he wasn't sure if he was grateful about that. At least she wasn't in his office accusing him of various crimes, several of which he'd actually committed over the years.

Aylah hadn't spoken to him, and his bedroom was positively frigid. That didn't worry him at all, since she was a moody woman. She'd never admit it, but she was. He thought back to the day he'd been dragged into Johnston's office and summarily offered up as a service to the town. Between the desire to choke her and the impulse to walk out the door, he'd actually been proud of her. Keep 'em off balance and you'll get more - something he'd taught her. Turned out well, all in all. So far.

Heather had been avoiding him, but that was more amusing than anything. In retrospect, he realized exactly how long she'd taken before she'd squeaked something and rushed out. A slow, devilish smile formed on his lips. Oh, but that could be fun, later. She was so wide-eyed that he wondered if she even knew what she'd been looking at. Then again, he'd heard about the kiss she'd given Jake in the middle of Main Street. You couldn't go anywhere in town without hearing about it. Jake, on the other hand, wasn't reacting to Heather's unexpected visit. He wondered if she'd even told him what happened. Knowing Heather, as little as he did, he figured that she'd told him. He doubted she'd mentioned how long she'd stood there, though. If she hadn't been looking hard at Jake, he'd consider trying his luck there.

A shadow crossed the door. Jonah put his drink down on his desk and waited. The shadow resolved into a slender teenager, who looked at him from under lowered lashes.

"Can I talk to you a minute, Jonah?" Skylar asked, her voice sweet and quiet.

"Take a seat." He motioned to one of the well-used chairs on the other side of his desk. After a moment, he stood up and walked over to a cabinet. He lifted out another glass and poured a generous serving of brandy into it. When he walked over to his chair again, he handed the new glass to Skylar.

She took the glass, then put it down on the desk. "I'm underage-"

"You work a full day, you come back here and continue sorting parts, and so far you've shown that you have more sense than to get wasted." Jonah shrugged. "Besides, I know how it is to live in this town with nothing much to do except drink and get laid, if you can manage the latter. Better I know what and where you're drinking than not." At the wide-eyed look she gave him, he chuckled. Evidently she wasn't used to his brand of parenting. "Please. You, Lisa, Shawn Henthorne, and one or two of his buddies used to head out to the mine after hours and drink beer. Found the bottles down there one night - and they were in good company. Spot's been used for years by teenagers trying to get out and misbehave while avoiding real trouble."

She picked up the drink again and sipped it. "But how did you know I had the brandy?" The burn was pleasant, but not as familiar as it had been a few weeks ago.

"I know your father's brand." He paused. "We talked sometimes. He was having a hard time dealing with his daughter being suddenly old enough to drive and go out with friends for all hours, so he asked me how I dealt with it."

"So, what did you tell him?" she asked, desperate for any connection to her parents.

"Do exactly what I'm doing now. Set the lines and come down on you like the wrath of God if you crossed them." His lips twitched. "He had a hard time with that, too, but was thinking about it. Seems like Shawn was a bit of a problem for him."

"Yeah. Shawn's an idiot, but he seems to have found something he's actually good at." Skylar took another sip of the brandy, glad she'd eaten with the men at the mine. She'd heard a lot about what they saw and what the older miners said needed to be done to get better results. Then she'd toured with them, talking over some of the points. She might suck at mechanics, but she could kick serious ass with structural integrity, mineralogy and chemistry. After she'd worked everything out, she'd present her ideas to Johnston, Jonah, and Carmichael. The mine was going to be incredibly important to them for survival. Romans had used salt for currency after all.

"Earth to Skylar?" Jonah said, bringing her back to her last statement.

"Oh. Shawn's been working with Lila Jenkins and Tyler Corbitt. Seems he has a knack for keeping animals calm and even training them." At Jonah's surprised look, she giggled. "I know. He can barely train himself to walk and chew gum at the same time, but he can get horses to take new chores and keep them calm for the farrier. And he seems to like it, too. Says he wasn't into physical labour, but taking care of the horses was a lot like fun." Jonah snorted. "I know. But he's been doing it for over a week, mucking out stalls and all. You know, I don't even think he rides."

"Probably not." Jonah remembered his time as a younger man, riding with Johnston and their buddies. When it came to it, he really did prefer heavy metal, preferably 8-cylinder, pre-computer metal. "But you didn't come in here to tell me about Shawn Henthorne."

"No," she said, looking down at her glass again. "Actually, I came to apologize. I was really rude to you Thursday, and there was no reason for it." She looked up at him. "I know I couldn't stay out at the house alone, and you won't leave here-"

"Can't. Not yet," he interrupted, then motioned her to continue.

"Or can't. I even thought about having the girls stay out there, since I have a generator and plenty of room for them all. I just didn't expect you to make that decision for me." She gave him a wry half-smile. "Guess that what the whole custody thing means," she added.

Jonah shook his head. "Not to me." He leaned forward, propping his arms on the desk. "Sky, you're old enough to be an adult in most areas. You're not stupid, you're generally responsible, and you're not likely to run off with the carnival. I'm willing to let you run free, within certain lines."

She blinked and stared at him. "Like, make my own decisions about everything? Including drinking, driving, money, and so on?"

"Within reason. Try to sell your parents' house or cars, we have a problem. Donate their things to charity, again problem, but only because we don't know what's happened to them. Get knocked up," he ignored her blush, "we have a big problem. But otherwise, if you need help or want to talk something out, come see me. It's not hard to find me, really, and I've done enough living to be able to answer most of your questions."

She looked down at her drink. So he was willing to let her go, make decisions for herself, not micromanage her life. But…"What happens if I screw up?"

"Depends on how bad it is. Minor stupidity, I don't have to lecture you for you to learn from it. Major stupidity, you can expect to get yelled at, maybe even grounded for a bit." He met her eyes. "At least until you figure out what you did and how to fix it." He paused, waiting for her to nod. She did, and he ended with, "I doubt you could manage cataclysmic stupidity, since you're more inclined to be a little princess than a wild child, but that would, of course, create a different response all together."

"Bad?" Her voice was a whisper. The look in his eyes was not gentle.

"On a scale of one to ten? Fifty." There was no humour in his eyes. He'd dealt with cataclysmic stupidity before - his own, and his men's. Mitchell's. Chris's. Damn, but he'd screwed that.

"I understand," she said, trying to reassure him.

"There's not a chance in hell you do, which is a good thing," he replied, taking a sip of his drink. He smiled at her suddenly. "You use the line 'I'm not a kid anymore, I'm an adult' with your parents?"

She nodded. "And Mom said 'not while you're living under my roof, child,' and grounded me for a week." She paused. "I snuck out and went-"

"Down to the mine with a bottle of your dad's brandy and a good friend or five," he finished for her. "Well, let me put it this way: Welcome to the world of grown-ups, kid. Try not to screw it up."

Skylar shook her head. "I think I can manage that much," she said, smiling at him. When he nodded, she looked at the old clock he'd kept from his late wife's house. It was an oddly graceful, wooden piece, an antique that had to be wound each day, sitting incongruously next to a greasy car part she should be able to identify and a pile of shop rags. "Have you eaten dinner here yet?"

"Not yet. Should be served in a few minutes, though. You hungry?"

"Not really. I ate down at the mine. Talked with the guys. Some of the older miners have good points and valid complaints." She sighed. "Gray has no idea what he's doing."

"I know, kid. Believe me, I know." Jonah finished off his drink and stood up. "Let's go see how dinner is progressing. Should be Mitch and Noah on KP tonight." Skylar followed him, standing up, but carrying her brandy with her.

"Kay-Pee?" she asked, confused.

"Kitchen Patrol." He laughed. "Wonder if they peeled potatoes." Skylar just looked up at him.

"Are you drunk?"

Jonah chuckled again. "Not even close, kid." He pulled her ponytail. "C'mon. Might have something for dessert, if Aylah managed to trade for some rewiring at Davey's." When she raised her eyebrows for more information, he added, "Burned up part of his kitchen in the EMP. Nothing too bad - fire suppression is mechanical and reacts to heat. Messed up his stoves, though, and if he has any chocolate left, Aylah would've traded for it in some form of dessert."

"Aylah's unusual, isn't she?" Skylar asked, fishing for information.

"To put it mildly, she's one of the most unusual women I've ever had the good fortune to meet."

Skylar nodded. "I like her. She's pretty blunt, but you know where you stand with her."

Jonah's reply was forgotten as he looked into the dining room, if a pair of picnic benches in a partitioned section of a garage could be called a dining room, and saw Emily standing uncomfortably to the side.

Skylar looked up and, before she had the chance to do more than smile, felt the tension in the room. "I'll go check on dinner," she said, making herself scarce. She didn't know what was the big problem Miss Sullivan had with Jonah, but she knew that it wasn't the time to find out, either.

"Emily," Jonah said, finally acknowledging his daughter. "You're far from home."

"I-" she stopped, then tried again. "I said a lot. When…When Heather said those things, I didn't want to believe her. But she was right." Emily looked at her father, wondering again why he'd left home so long ago, leaving her with her mother. She still didn't understand it, so she had learned to despise him, even when she'd run with his gang, she'd despised him. "I didn't want to admit it, but she was right." She laughed, just to keep from crying. "You know, I'm stubborn, but I'm not a complete idiot. I know that you've done a lot. I just…didn't want to believe it."

Jonah stood there, quiet. He wondered how they'd come to this, knowing it was more than half his fault, but knowing that there was more to it than either of them wanted to examine.

"Why are you here, Emily?" he asked, his voice soft. He remembered when those eyes had lit up when he came into a room. Now they were filled with pain. They'd looked at him like that for a long time.

"I came to apologize," she spat, suddenly angry. "Hell if I know why. You're still the same stubborn man you've always been…" she broke off, feeling her voice falter as the tears began to fill her eyes again.

"Apology accepted," he said, looking away and turning to leave.

"Wait," she said, walking forward, not wanting to let him go so soon. Not when he was still disappointed with her. "I…I came to see if I could help here. I'm not really teaching anymore. I'm…not doing much of anything, really. I've been…useless. And I was hoping you'd…let me work here."

Jonah turned back around, seeing that she'd come closer. "Still know your way around an engine?" he asked, thinking of the repairs that would need to be made to some of the older vehicles in town. "Chassis? Simple braking systems and gears?"

"Anything up to about ninety-five," she said, smiling. "After that, the computers got in the way."

Jonah smiled, recognizing one of his favourite complaints. "Damned techies," he said softly.

"Gotta put an electronic brain in everything," she finished, knowing the line well. He'd started saying it in the late eighties, when she and Jake were hanging around, working on her old Corvette. That had been a gift from him. She'd kept it, stored in the warehouses on the outside of town.

"We're talking with the people who've got old cars rusting out in fields, the junkyard manager." He was explaining again. He'd have to get over this newly acquired habit. "Need someone to keep an eye on the newbies while they tear down and check parts. Heather's been working on mechanical governors for the wind turbines in town, which Aylah swears is a waste of time, but the city engineer won't leave it alone. They went to put in their first full governors today, finished three of them. Got four working turbines now," he added.

Emily nodded. "Been short around the shop." She gave him a half smile. This was the longest conversation she'd had with her father in over seven years.

"Think you can handle sixteen kids under the age of eighteen who've never had to think about what they're doing?"

"Dad, I teach literature to these same kids. Engines, at least, are something that can bite back."

Jonah felt a warmth go through him. She'd called him Dad again. She hadn't done that in ages.

"Have dinner yet?" he asked, realizing he'd been asking that more and more over the past few days. Damn, he was getting to be Papa Smurf or something.

"No," she said, looking down and scuffing her boot on the floor, suddenly shy. "I was hoping to have dinner here." At his raised eyebrows, she added, "Brought scalloped potatoes and green beans." Two of his favourites.

"Really?" He paused. "That leave you needing anything?" He couldn't help it. He had to make sure she was okay.

"Nah. Roger was a planner. You'd think we already had five kids-" She choked on the thought. Memory invaded.

"_I was thinking five kids. Three girls, two boys," Roger said, holding her close. They'd just finished making love next to the fire. He'd been so incredibly romantic-rosepetals and champagne and candles everywhere. _

"_Mm." She"d groaned. "I'm good for two. After that, you're on your own."_

"_What?" he'd said, laughing and propping up on his arm. "No more than two?"_

"_Or we could switch off," she suggested. "I have the first two, you have the next three."_

_He'd started tickling her then, which had ended in another round of loving. As she'd dozed by his side, comfortable in his arms, she'd thought maybe she'd extend the number to three, but no more._

Jonah watched as his daughter's expression changed from hopeful and a bit more cheerful to soft and pained. She was staring at the floor, hands that had been in her pockets wrapped around her, like she was trying to hold on to keep from exploding.

"Em?" he asked, stepping closer.

"He's gone. His plane went down. He was supposed to be in Wichita, but ended up in a field in Nebraska." She felt the tears she'd been fighting start again. She looked up at him, her eyes reminding him of the little girl she'd been on the day Sylvie had kicked him out. She'd cried, begging him not to go, and he'd had to turn around and walk out. If he'd stayed to tell her how much he loved her, he never could have gone, and Sylvie would have taken the kids and left town for good. It had been better to see his children across the street than to be separated from them by hundreds, if not thousands, of miles.

"I don't think he's coming back, Daddy," she said, feeling her knees grow weak. They'd been engaged for over a year, dating for more than two, when this happened. "We're supposed to get married in a thirteen days."

Jonah didn't know when he'd moved, didn't realize he'd done it until she was in his arms and crying on his shoulder. He was stroking her hair, murmuring to her, little things to help her calm down. His baby was hurting, knowing that was enough. It was hard for him to forgive, but even if he hadn't completely forgiven her, he didn't want to see her like this.

After several minutes, she'd calmed down enough to go wash her face and come in for dinner. Jonah helped carry the dishes into the tables, including the ones Emily had brought and Aylah's chocolate dessert. From the scent of the green beans, she'd made them the way he liked best, freshly snapped beans with butter and worchestershire sauce, cooked for hours, and the scalloped potatoes were from scratch. She was definitely apologizing, considering there were three dishes of each.

When Emily returned, most of the men had gathered and served their plates. Emily joined the last of the line and looked over at the other table. Jonah nodded to the seat on his left, across from Aylah and Skylar. Next to Jake, who'd been splitting his time between Jonah's and his parents'. Across from Heather, too, who'd simply looked at her with expectant eyes.

Emily swallowed hard. If she was going to do this, she'd have to do it all. Shaky and shy, she walked over to the seat on Jonah's left and slid into place. She gave him a small smile as she made the sign of the cross and bowed her head, the way she always had when she ate with her father.

Was it strange that this group of men had a habit of saying grace when they ate at the same table?

J*J*J*J*J*J

Aylah looked at Jonah, then at Emily. She didn't speak, but watched Jonah's eyes. He was calm, which was unusual for a meeting with his daughter. She knew that from experience over the last several years.

She lifted her fork and began eating.

Jonah looked down the table. His lover, his ward, his daughter, his protégé, and his men. It wasn't exactly the family he'd expected to have around him at this age, but it was more than he figured he had the right to expect. Especially the way he'd lived for over half his life.

He looked at Emily and Jake. Years ago, before they were ever married, he and Johnston had joked that their kids would wind up married one day. They'd been wrong, but not by much. Jake and Em had come so close…and so much had happened. Now Jake and Heather were moving closer together and Emily was alone, not what he'd expected at all.

He glanced down at Skylar's plate. Dessert only, with brandy. Exactly like he'd said.

Under the table, Aylah touched his knee with her hand. He looked over at her as his hand dropping to hers, saw her eyes flash from him to Emily. They didn't need to say anything. They understood.

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	18. The Days After: 21 through 27

**On a Dark Horse-20**

Chapters/Novella

**Timeline: **Bombs + 21-27

**Warnings:** None that I can think of.

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine. Never was. Isn't now. Won't be, not even if I manage to hit the lottery. Not writing to infringe upon copyright, etc., but to indulge my own daemons. My only form of compensation is feedback.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Aylah went out to the airfield with Jake the next morning. He wanted to look over the tower and understood the gear much better than she did. He'd found a windmill and all of the necessary parts for the turbine, even managed to follow the schematics to get it mostly assembled himself. If they could get the tower running, they wouldn't need to use the generator except in extreme circumstances. He showed her the work he'd done, and she'd nodded.

"Not bad, Jake," she said, taking in the mostly-assembled machine. "Pretty damned good, actually." It was a matter of minutes for them to finish the assembly. Setting up the turbine in the best place and running the wires took longer. It was afternoon when power was running and they'd finished the diagnostic of the tower's electronics.

"Well, the radar is salvageable. The identification system is completely shot, and the thing over there-"

"The weather information station," Jake supplied.

"Yeah. Kiss it goodbye and use it for a really big paperweight. Nothing left on there except the gold and copper. Circuitboard can be cut up and reused, but even the components are fried."

Jake looked at the older technology. "We could get the parts," he said, hoping it was possible. He needed this weather information to get really good use of his time in the air.

"Even if we got them, we'd have to have someone to create the simple program they used. Know anyone who can write in binary? Oh, and it would need a receiver for a satellite that's so old that no one would even know the language it uses anymore." She sighed, leaning back. The knots in her back were giving her a headache. Jake was silent. "And why do you need this? It's not like you're doing any long runs. You and the other dusters haven't even finished a trip to a nearby town yet."

Jake flashed her a wry grin. "I don't really need it," he said finally. "Hell, the windsock is enough right now. But."

"Yeah," she said, lifting a bottle of water to her lips. They'd only paused for a quick lunch. Peanut butter sandwiches, which had thrown her back into the school days with him. She had to know. "You were such a sweet kid, Jake. What happened?"

"I'll tell you," he said, then added, "only if you tell me what changed you from the girl who never talked to the ball-buster you are now."

"Wouldn't put it that way myself," she said, thinking about the way he'd classified her.

"Well, if Mitch isn't willing to cross you, you've done something to impress them all." Jake's voice was matter of fact. In fact, he was certain that he was getting closer and closer to the fight with Mitch that they hadn't had yet.

"He touched my ass, first day I came here. I took a hammer to him. Jonah didn't let me kill him, though." She sipped the water again, then handed the bottle over to Jake. He took it from her and slugged some of it down. It wasn't much of a leap to see her killing anyone now. Back in school, she'd been timid. "So what changed you?" she asked.

"Jonah," he said, his eyes losing focus as he thought of all the stupid things he'd done as part of Jonah's crew. He took another drink and handed the water back to her. "What about you?"

"Same thing," she said, looking down at the last bit of water. She drank it. "Different results, though," she added, capping the bottle and pitching it toward the bin where they'd been putting unusable parts.

"Yeah." He leaned his head back against the tower and enjoyed the quiet for a while. Helped him think.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"Well, Johnston, we've got a good thing going here," Jonah said, looking over the security information. "Training has started, and it's not pulling anyone from their duties for long. Since the greenhouses have been put in, the farmers who've got nothing for winter crops are supervising the workers there, several people had cuttings from their own greenhouses or gardens that they donated as starters. Hell, the nursery handed over splits of tomato plants and other vegetables and vines, some fruit trees old enough to start bearing fruit, mature strawberry plants and berry bushes."

"With that and Belle Jackson's bees to keep things pollinated, the small generators making enough heat to keep everything going well, hell, we'll have a crop of various things by late November." Johnston nodded, happy with the way things were looking.

"What have you got in mind for trade? Hayes has a lot of wheat, and they have the flour and sugar refineries there. We can trade salt for those staples, if we can get a message to them."

"I'll bring that up at the next council meeting, but I don't want to commit anything from the mine until I get a chance to talk it over with Skylar. She's got a voice in this-"

"She knows the mine, Johnston. She's working on something, a proposal of sorts. Whatever it is, listen carefully to it. Stevens has been training her carefully to take over his shares. And you know that's her land, really, since she's the only Stevens here." Jonah referred to the patent her family had had on the land for over a century. The way that patent was written, they controlled the land completely. The only thing they had sold was shares in the products of the mine, something few people knew. Gray Anderson would get a nasty surprise if he came back and tried to throw his weight around.

"Mm. Thought you'd like to know, Jonah, there's been a nomination for sheriff kicked around in the last meeting."

"What, Friday?" Jonah hadn't been able to make that meeting. He'd been talking to Doc Hallowell and April Green about the girls he'd brought in from the highway. Doc Hallowell had suggested having Laureanna St. Xavier look them over. April had been skeptical of the herbalist-midwife who'd been practicing in Jericho for decades, but couldn't object, since the medicine they had was still the only supply they would have.

"Yep. We're still talking it through, though. Might want to come to the next town meeting, if you can. We've got some more work to do on the generals and specifics of your shop and the town." Johnston didn't mention any names, and Jonah wasn't interested yet. If it became more than a vague suggestion, he'd want to have some input.

"When it comes to something more solid, let me know." He paused. "I've been thinking about the highways, close towns. We need to get out there a bit more, start re-establishing contact. Thinking of heading to Rogue River first, but want to get better aerials first."

"Understood. We've got a bunch of people preparing for winter already, laying in stores of firewood, canning and drying foods, working on quilts and warmer clothes. Miss Maddie and Lila Jenkins suggested that the women start wearing pioneers' clothing again, pointing out the layers of the clothes will help keep them warmer than modern styles. They've also started spinning, quilting, and those yarn-craft classes." Johnston paused, considering something that he wouldn't have looked at in past years as anything more than outright theft. "If there are any abandoned towns nearby, Jonah, and I mean abandoned or evacuated, I'd like to know what it would take to get useable materials out of it."

Jonah sat back and looked at his old friend. "Raiding ghosttowns for supplies? Not easy. Between distance and fuel, workers to get it all loaded and back, outriders to keep highwaymen off of us - it'd take a week to put together the plan."

"Start it. If we can find the place, we can provide the labour. And we can use those materials to trade. 'Course, everything would have to be checked for fallout," Johnston added.

"I'll get Sky to work on the research for the tests. Think Heather would have more information about fallout and the like?"

"Physics? Maybe, if she looked over nuclear physics, too." Johnston snorted. "Hell, probably a required course."

"Smart girl - maybe she just got curious."

"She gets curious and looks up nuclear fallout information? I can see it, actually." Johnston laughed. "When we got curious, we usually ended up doing something stupid."

"I wasn't the one who wanted to climb the watertower and paint a dirty limerick on the damned thing. In royal blue."

"But you helped," Johnston grinned. "How many weeks did we end up cleaning the school?"

"Second half of our sophomore year," Jonah said, laughing. "I also remember you skipping out to spend some time with Luanne Tyler."

"Heh. You skipped out more to get friendly with Annabelle Stevens."

"Yeah, but you were the one that got caught in the boiler room," Jonah smirked.

"And I caught more hell about that…how did you manage to keep from getting caught?"

"Bleachers," Jonah replied. "We snuck under the old bleachers, the ones with the storerooms under them."

"That's right. I'd forgotten about those rooms. And the way we used to jump off the damned things after football practice." He looked over at his friend. "It's amazing what we managed to live through, Jo."

"Looking back, I'm amazed we made it to sixteen," Jonah agreed. They talked over some of their more daredevil moments in Johnston's home office, enjoying the quiet of the late afternoon.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah pulled the plan together while his men went out on the highways on a fast sweep. They returned with a late-model pick-up and supplies for two weeks on the road. Supplies were added to the town supplies and the car was earmarked for transport of materials from other abandoned towns.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Emily found her place in the shop, remembering a ton of things she hadn't used in years, even going so far as to get her Corvette out of storage. It was her father's gift to her, what's more it had a serious engine under the hood. She'd won more street races on the highway between Jericho and New Bern than she could count. The money had been squirreled away, too. It had supplemented her income for her first two years of teaching. She enjoyed working on the cars with the new kids. Some were advanced enough to help the other kids, but not to be left alone with the tools and instructions to finish something. After so many days of feeling like the walking dead, she was beginning to live again. And it felt good. Not everything was good, though. She remembered the day after she'd come to dinner, bringing food for forgiveness.

_Emily snarled at Mitch's back. They'd been training together, so she could tolerate his presence. But she did not like him. She still considered Mitch responsible for her brother's death. Every time they were around each other for very long, they'd start arguing._

_Mitch got loud. He got close. He invaded her personal space. And she did the exact same. It was nothing like fighting with Jake or Roger. Mitch never caved. _

_One day, after a long day working together, he'd said something that really set her off. It had been about her past lovers. She'd physically attacked him, slapping him hard. He'd backed her up against the wall._

"_I told you, Emily, I'm not your pet banker and I'm not Jake," Mitch growled, stalking forward and pinning Emily to the wall of her room. "You come after me like that again, I'll take it as foreplay."_

"_I don't want you," she spat, angry at his presumption. The edge Mitch had kept her nervous. That was all._

_He smiled, a slow, knowing smirk. "Really?" he asked, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Then what is that scent?" he breathed on her neck. He caught the hand that came toward his face, pinning it to the wall. "I know what you want, Emily. Your banker-boy rolls over for you, anything you want. Jake was wild enough, but too sweet." He slid an arm around her waist and jerked her into full contact with him. _

"_You want a man you can't control. Someone who scares you, but won't hurt you. You want a man who'll take what he wants, who won't be careful with you when you want it rough." He squeezed her arm, kissing her hard. She'd responded to the kiss, gotten lost in the controlled violence of it. And she'd ached, feeling her lips swell and bruise as soon as he pulled back. "And you like it rough, Emily. You can tell yourself you want to be cherished, petted and adored, but I know better." His lips brushed her ear. "Think it over."_

_He let her go, standing against the wall, panting, a dazed look in her eye as she glared at him. _

She'd kept her distance from him after that, except when she couldn't. She'd turned her house into a haven for some of the people who'd lost their homes in the fires at the trailer park. Dale Turner and two young couples who worked hard and had just been getting started were living there now. She'd brought the things she needed here, to the shop. She was sharing her old room with Skylar.

Strange, having a roomie after all these years. Skylar was easy to get along with, though. The difference in ages helped. If they had been the same age, they'd never have managed it. As it was, Emily was happier than she'd been in a while. Even if she did have to put up with Mitch.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Aylah spent two more days at the airfield with Jake, working on the tower. Heather bounced from job to job, as necessary, brainstorming with the utility department to get a plan for weather warnings working again. She had two groups building wind turbines and governors. All she had to do was look over the work. So far, four more turbines had been added, these designs more efficient since they were using aluminum alloy for the blades and extending the poles to catch the wind about ten stories off the ground. These would be tied to the grid, providing power to the heart of Jericho.

Titus and Serena spoke with the older citizens of Jericho who lived alone. They asked these people to let younger people into their houses, since the younger age group tended to live on the outskirts of town, where houses may be newer, but power was not available. There wasn't really enough power to fully use everything electric, so the women and men who'd learned to cook on old woodburning stoves were teaching others how to set up and use the stoves. Woodpiles around Jericho hadn't been so well-organized since the early 1950s.

After attending her lessons in the morning, Skylar spent lunch and practicals at the mine and learned that she had a knack for whittling useful little things like knitting needles and crochet hooks from small twigs. One of the miners who'd been working there since after high school had showed her how to hold the wood and work the knife during a lunch break. She'd spoken to Miss Maddie about the need for hooks and needles, and had been given instructions from one of Titus's sons, a carpenter, how to cure and finish the needles. And wouldn't you know it? It involved salt.

A brief visit was made to Hayes, a small town off the main roads from Jericho. The report back was that Hayes was now controlled by an elderly couple who had met during WWII. She had flown transport planes with the WASPs, he had been in the British RAF as a Spitfire pilot. They were old, yes, but they were sharp and understood that their town, about half the size of Jericho, could benefit greatly from close association. People had been moving away from Hayes for the past twenty years, so they had more room than people, and the average age was in the mid-forties. However, those who were left were a hearty breed, farmers and ranchers and all the workers for the sugar and flour refineries. They were fiercely independent, and an information relay was set up for how Hayes and Jericho were dealing with the crisis, using a short-wave to establish meeting times and dates. The phone repairman for Jericho had gone to put the local phone system back online for Hayes. The EMP hadn't affected as much of Hayes as Jericho, since the smaller town was nearly 100 miles distant.

Ideas were adopted and changed from both sides, including an integration of their security forces. Further discussions were underway about what and how much could be traded in the way of supplies and foodstuffs. As it was, everything was promising, including a mutual defense and security pact. There was a plan in place for the sheep and cows in the two towns to be cross-bred and, depending upon the need, dairy and meat products taken from the herds to trade. There was even a turkey farm in Hayes, which was good news for Jericho. While chickens were common and the Hendersons had advocated creating a large chicken farm for the larger town, it would take some time before the chicks were old enough to start being used as replacements for the older chickens in egg production. On the other hand, since the introduction of roosters into the hen population, egg production had increased by over 50%. Stanley had remarked to Jake that the hens weren't the only ones happy with this new arrangement.

Laureanna St. Xavier started teaching herbal remedies for simple ailments to people who went to the clinic. It if wasn't a major injury or critical illness, the doctors weren't treating it with modern medicines. She sent a package out to Aylah, for her to use when she began cramping during her cycles too badly to function. It was a recipe that she'd taught Aylah years ago, and one the younger woman hadn't had to use for over five years, since a minor surgery to correct some of the worst damage. Aylah smiled and put the package away. So far she hadn't needed it. With any luck, she wouldn't.

As the weather grew colder, no few of the older women adopted the many-layered skirts and shawls of the past. At first, some of the younger citizens rolled their eyes and snickered, but after getting caught in an unexpected rainstorm during a set of outdoor chores, several of the younger women adopted the same style. If they weren't soaked through, as most of them had been in their easy, modern clothing, they actually could retain more body heat and simply change out of the wet layers. Since there had been plenty of wool and heavier materials on the train they'd raided a while back, it was a matter of cutting and sewing the patterns in the evening. The proper underthings, corsets and pantalettes, also made a reappearance, since they added to the number of layers available for warmth.

After watching how easily the women kept from freezing in the coldest October in over three decades, the men began to wonder if there wasn't something to this new-old style. Some younger husbands discovered the joys of layers, too, but their wives wouldn't say anything. They simply smiled sweetly at the "liberated" women who shivered in their denims and thought about what might happen later that night. Other than drinking and gossiping, there really wasn't much to do in a small town, but there was always that oldest form of entertainment, right?

J*J*J*J*J

Skylar and Lisa looked around the room they were using at Jonah's. Lisa wound up getting so involved in her work that day that she hadn't noticed the ones who didn't live there clearing out. They'd been freezing in the open garage and the mine, despite the protective walls and clothing they'd worn.

"I hate to say it, Lisa, but Miss Maddie and the others have a point." Skylar looked at her designer clothes and sighed. "And I can always go back to these when it warms up some."

Lisa groaned. "I know. It's fine for ordinary research and so on, but these layers are not good for the shop. Too many ways of getting caught or burned."

"Kinda the same way at the mine, but only when I'm in the shafts. I only go in there when there's something that needs to be looked over with your dad. Most of the time, I'm working in the office or outside. And it's freezing out there!" Skylar was exaggerating, but she was thinner than Lisa, her muscles long and lean, but her boneframe so delicate that she complained of cold when it was under 65 degrees. Lisa had more curves and a more lush build, inherited from her Castillian mother.

"Mm. It's not that bad yet, but it'll get worse." Lisa sighed, looking at her now-stained jeans and work shirt. "I kinda miss being a girly-girl, but I'm really having more fun like this."

"I know. It's not like it was, where everyone expected us to look perfect just because our parents had money." Skylar giggled. "You know, Dad would take me down to the mine and I'd get so filthy that he had to hose me off just to get me into his car - and he always had leather seats. If I spent time with Jonah and he handed me some mechanical thing, I'd end up covered in grease, too. It got to the point Dad kept a duffle back in his car for me so I could shower before we went home. Nothing like school was."

"I know. Mom hated it when Dad and I would work on his bikes. I mean, he restored them and sold most of them at auction, but he kept a few. The engines were simpler, compared to the ones in the garage here, but they used more grease and oil...Mom finally gave up and just bought a gallon of GoJo to keep in my bathroom." Lisa laughed. "Oh, man, I really got covered in oil one day-all over me. Soaked to the skin! Tripped and fell onto the worktable where Dad had the oil pans. I went down and all of the pans fell onto me. Took me a week to get it all off." She paused, took a sip of brandy Skylar had poured for them. "My skin was awesome though. Totally exfoliated." You could take the girl out of the social whirl, but you couldn't take the girliness out of her completely.

"I know. I have not had any problems since working at the mine. Getting the salt and dust off of me requires a long shower, but I practically glow. I mean, look" she held out an arm. Lisa nodded, then looked at her glass.

"I cannot believe Jonah just handed you this. I mean, what the hell?" It was a common question used in Skylar's group to mean many different things. In this case, what had the man been thinking to hand alcohol to minors?

Skylar shrugged. "He handed me the case. Mom and Dad would probably freak out, but then they'd really freak if they thought about our spot," she said, referring to the part of the mine where she and her friends liked to hang out, before the bombs. Now, they didn't have time. "I kinda like it. I mean, the alcohol's nice, but it's not the big thing. It's like...he's trusting me not to screw up, and it's so different. I know I didn't do a lot to get in trouble, but this is totally different."

"Yeah." Lisa looked at her glass. "My parents would still freak if they knew."

"Yeah. Good thing you're sleeping here. Did you call them and tell them what happened?"

Lisa rolled her eyes, remembering the spate of irate Spanish she'd listened to for over twenty minutes. "I am bound by my word and my life to stay in here all night, to sleep armed with some form of weapon, and to avoid any and all contact with anyone except Miss Sullivan. Dad tried to talk to her, but she is so totally unreasonable. What does she think I'm going to do? Go mattress-hopping? I mean, Leon's kinda sexy, but I am so not going to hop into bed with anyone right now."

"Amen. I mean, hello? Birth control?" Skylar's parents, even Lisa's father, had been realistic. They'd been taken to Rogue River to be handed the little pills. "Besides, after prom last year..."

"Don't remind me. Please don't remind me." Lisa groaned. "He could kiss, but the rest? I am not willing to repeat any of it anytime soon."

"I know. Boys are so..." Skylar couldn't think of the right word. She didn't have to.

"Exactly."

The girls touched glasses and finished their drinks. Skylar hopped up.

"I'm going to raid the kitchen. I think Heather got some cookies from one of the older ladies. I have no idea how they were made, but she did mention they have chocolate in them."

"Oh...chocolate..." Lisa moaned. "Bring back enough to share." She had given her mother her word that she'd stay in Skylar's room all night. Thankfully, there was a bathroom attached.

"No problem." Skylar opened the door and saw Emily standing there, obviously upset. "Hi, Emily," she said. "I was just going to pick up some cookies - oh."

Emily held out her hands, one of which had a thermos and the other some cookies. "Figured I'd bring something with me. Aylah told me we had a guest."

"Hi, Miss Sullivan," Lisa said, piping up from the floor. "I'd say grab a seat, but," she waved her arm around. There was the lower bunk, Emily's by claim, the upper bunk, and a chair piled with material the girls had planned to piece together using the pattern they'd gotten from the sewing students.

"Not a problem," Emily said, stepping inside and sinking to the floor. "And call me Emily. There's no reason to keep formal right now." She opened the thermos, revealing hot chocolate. "I know Jonah gave you the brandy, so I figured we'd have some doctored chocolate."

"We've already had a small glass each," Skylar said, remembering that they'd had a good dinner, but that had been two hours ago.

"Not to worry," Emily said, "I know how to mix light. Besides, we're not exactly going anywhere." She suited actions to words, and in a few minutes they all had cookies and mildly alcoholic hot chocolate. She didn't notice the look the girls traded. This was one of their teachers, contributing to the delinquency of two of her students. They figured it had to be Jonah's influence, since they'd recently learned that Miss Sullivan was really Miss Prowse and Jonah's daughter.

"Emily, has Jonah always had this...unique style of parenting?" Lisa asked, curious.

"Unique is one way of putting it," Emily said, biting into a cookie. She had to think carefully to be fair to him, especially since he'd been so good with Skylar so far. "I learned a lot from him, from Mom, too, but I really wasn't into the things she taught me. I mean, I liked working on my 'Vette more than cutting patterns and sewing, y'know?"

"Oh." Lisa and Skylar looked at each other. "You know how to sew?"

"Yeah. I'm okay with it. I can keep the seams straight and put in pleats, buttonholes, and so on. I just don't like it much. Why?"

"Lisa and I were talking about the layered skirts, and we got the materials today from Mrs. Beeklin's group. They were coming out this way to pick up a set of spokes and distaffs for the spinning wheels they'd ordered for the spinners, so they brought the material for us, too. It's there," Skylar pointed to the overloaded chair, "with the patterns, needles and threads, but we didn't exactly take home ec."

"Avoided it like the plague," Lisa added, shaking her head. "I mean, we go shopping, right? Who'd've ever thought..."

Emily nodded, understanding. "Yeah," she said, looking down at her plate and half-empty glass. "It's not that late," she said, looking at the mantle clock Skylar had brought from her house. "We can get started and I'll show you how to pin the pattern and cut it out. We can at least get that done tonight. And maybe this weekend we can take it down to Mrs. Beeklin's and use the sewing machines."

Mrs. Beeklin had set up in an empty storefront off of Main Street, using the oldest electric machines and the treadle machines that had been languishing in disuse. She handled a group of students and scheduled use for more experienced seamstresses to use the machines after class was over. There were one or two promising young tailors in the class, too, and so far, all of the machines and needles were still intact.

With a plan and something to keep them occupied and out of the way, in Emily's case away from Mitch, the three stayed up until after ten that night, preparing and cutting the skirts and bodices from the yards of cloth.

Emily smiled as she curled up in her bunk, the two girls sharing the top bunk. It would appear that she was more useful than she'd known.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Preparations for a Halloween festival were underway. If nothing else, the kids could have some fun, and it was a relief for the adults, too. Granted, there wasn't much in the way of candy and sweets to be had, but some creative baking and scavenging in old barns and attics had yielded a large supply of older, simpler toys. In the past month, the kids had learned quickly how much fun a set of Lincoln Logs or a few puppets could be. Costumes wouldn't be fancy, but they would be inventive. The kids were having as much fun planning out their costumes as they were with the old toys. Through it all, Miss Maddie's new school plan kept them learning and taught them to plan ahead.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	19. The Days After: 28 E

**On a Dark Horse-21-EDITED VERSION**

Novellas/Chapter

**Timeline: **Bombs + 28

**Warning:** Mild language, sex scene(s). I don't write for young'uns.

**Note:** **Some scenes are {snipped} from this particular chapter.** If you don't want to see the whole thing, then read this edited chapter right here. If you prefer uncensored texts, you are hereby warned: I do not write for children/young adults. If you read chapter 15, you know that by now. If you haven't, I suggest you peruse those before hopping over to the full-scene version of this chapter. Please keep in mind that I downplayed descriptions in chapter 17 in order to post it in its entirety.

Heather watched the beginners sort through the umpteenth box of myriad parts the men had brought in from the junkyard. They were good with the chore, and Lisa had a knack for recognizing stressed parts that couldn't handle the full load of an engine. Right now, Lisa had been pulled from cutting and parts-layout and was teaching others the names and possible uses of the different parts, since the class had grown to include some younger students who needed a bit of practical knowledge to continue working on the research. Those parts could be used for simple machines, usually, like hand-crank washing machines some of the guys were putting together for trade.

Heather was taking a break from her job this hour, which was cutting up some sheet metal, aluminum from one of the downed airplanes they'd scavenged, for another wind turbine, this time for new blades for the Stevens place, which was where the girls Jonah and the men had rescued were staying with six or seven senior citizens. The girls were comfortable with the seniors, and they were healing slowly, physically and emotionally. Mentally, Aylah told her they'd never be fully healed but they could function. Heather knew that, understood that better than anyone suspected - which suited her to the ground.

The Stevens place had lost electricity when the EMPs had fried the power grid. The generator was useable, but no one wanted to spend the gasoline until it was absolutely necessary. At the town meeting the morning after the EMPs, it had taken her more than a few hours of explaining what the effect of an EMP was to different people before she'd gotten the information across. It would appear that a degree in Physics was not considered normal for a woman - or an elementary school teacher, even if she'd been instrumental in keeping people from panicking the night of the EMP itself. She dreaded explaining the difference in forcing the aluminum blades to develop the protective coating of aluminum oxide and iron oxide, better known as rust. The white coat would protect the blades, keep them from being damaged or wearing away, but she knew the kids wouldn't get it at first. Neither would the townspeople. Was it her fault that she hadn't been able to make up her mind in her sophomore year of college and wound up with a double major?

And then there was that kiss. Wow. And it hadn't helped that everyone was still talking about it. Like no one had ever kissed in the middle of Main Street before! Well, considering Jericho, they probably hadn't, but still. She melted a bit inside every time she thought of that kiss, which she tried not to do more than once every hour or so. That was hard work, not thinking about it. Fortunately, there were other things to keep her mind off of it. Like the one that just walked into the room.

Leon. Again. He was helpful, generous with his time, but he tended to hover when Lisa was present. Granted, the girl was seventeen, but she still was a minor and her parents were already nervous about this "practical applications" at Jonah's. They'd calmed down since the men had brought back the girls who were now afraid of almost every male between ten and eighty _but_ their rescuers. And that included Leon. She doubted that such a distinction would bring comfort and joy to the Carmichaels' hearts, though.

Heather killed the flame, but kept the torch ready, pulled off her mask and stood up, ostensibly stretching her legs from the crouch she'd had trouble holding - her leg still hurt, but it was pretty much healed up. April had put her in a light splint earlier in the week.

"Can I help you Leon?" It was the third time that she'd told him no, they could handle it. In the last hour.

"Just checking to see if you needed any help," he said, smiling at her. His eyes were focused on Lisa, though, and Heather was not in the mood for a gentle reminder.

"No, and get your eyes back in your head. She's too young for you." Heather's grip tightened on the waiting torch. "For the last time, we do not need your help in here. You have other things to do."

This time, Leon wasn't leaving like usual. Heather glanced over at the girls and saw Lisa smiling back.

"Looks like not everyone feels that way." He smirked, drifting to the side. Aylah and Jonah, who had been talking about the progress made on the changes they were planning for the turbines and the potential of scavenging in old barns and a few abandoned farms for old mechanical governors the city engineer just had to have no matter how many times Aylah explained that a governor was not strictly necessary, paused to listen to this exchange. What Heather did next would place her firmly in one category or another. Would she be the office's pet teacher and Jake's woman, or would she be a damned good mechanic who happened to be Jake's woman? Oh, she'd already been adopted as "little sister". Mitchell and D'Shea even teased her by calling her "Sis". But Heather was still more Jake's woman than her own woman, and this type of test was going to have to happen some time.

"Back off, Leon," she said, her generally perky voice flattening as her eyes grew completely serious and unamused.

"Why should I listen to you?" The challenge was issued. With a grin, even.

"Because I'm the one with the cutting torch," she said, giving him a bright, false smile and lifting the torch. She didn't budge as he stood there, fully in her face and her space. She thumbed the flame on. "Have a nice day."

Leon weighed his options. If she hadn't turned on the flame, he'd've chanced it. He looked at her carefully, then turned and walked away. She was just unpredictable enough that she might do it.

Heather watched him go, thumbing off the flame again and taking a deep, shaky breath. She looked over at the grandfather clock she'd brought into the shop to keep track of the afternoon lessons. So long as the weights were kept in place and the pendulum swung, it was reliable.

"Okay, kids. Five minutes - wrap it up for the day and get back to town." She walked over and put the torch down, cutting off the fuel supply at the source. Her mask followed it, and so did the long gloves. She looked at her hands. They weren't shaking. Her stomach was jumping around like it was in an earthquake and her throat was dry, but her hands were steady. Weird.

The kids packed up and walked out, most of them riding horses or coming in a horse-drawn cart. Most of them had at least one weapon, just in case of trouble or easy, legal game on the way to or from their practicals.

Jonah and Aylah watched as Heather stood there, staring down at the torch. As the kids filed out, they drifted over.

"Word of advice," Jonah said, his voice quiet, but making Heather jump a mile. She turned to him, wide-eyed. "Never make a threat you aren't willing to back up. Especially not here."

Heather looked at him, unsteady, but certain of herself. "That's just it. I was."

Aylah and Jonah looked at her for a long moment. Her clear blue eyes stared back at them. There was no fear in them, just a quiet realization. They believed her. Finally Jonah nodded. It was time to change the subject.

"Getting late. If you're done for the night, you need to get started back to town." His lip twitched in a grin. "Charlotte may be sturdy, but her lights aren't working yet."

Heather shook her head. "Not yet. I needed to go over some things with Aylah. I think I found something in one of the library's mechanical texts that will give us the last little bit we need to make a reliable mechanical thermostat, but we'll need to improvise, since we don't have the exact parts."

"Not a problem," Aylah said. "I found another text - it was in some books I bought several years ago that I never had time to read - that has a better diagram than the one we found last week. Better, I think we have more of the materials we need for it, and we can do a quick-fix to install it on the greenhouses." The new blades were for better efficiency for the lower buildings in town. The turbines were working, and there was enough power for the most important things in Town Hall, and Gracie's. "If only to make the city engineer feeeeel better about it." She rolled her eyes, her opinion of Jericho's city engineer well known to Jonah and Heather. "Generally, it's pretty damned easy to tell when a greenhouse is too hot. The plants react. We could use these parts in a more efficient manner."

"I'll leave you to it, then. I'm meeting Johnston and Eric about a run to Rogue River, if the latest set of aerials is correct." That meant he'd also be talking with Jake, since Jake still did the aerials. With that, Jonah gave Aylah a quick kiss - something that he did occasionally in public - and stalked out. It had been not quite a month, and he and his boys were already firmly back into the town's good graces. Even Mitch had straightened out. D'Shea had been unusually relaxed and easygoing, but he assigned that more to Arielle's influence. A single mother of two who'd survived an abusive husband in Denver - and the jerk was dead, thank God - she was more than D'Shea's match. What's more, her kids seemed to have a magical effect on the horniest of his crew. Around those twin girls, he actually turned up sweet.

Aylah and Heather watched Jonah leave, then turned back to their pet project. If they got this done, they could put the students on the gathering and basic assemblies, leaving the extremely persnickety parts for themselves. Despite the differences in their attitudes and personalities, they got along well together.

Five hours later, Jonah and Jake returned. Aylah and Heather had ironed out the last problems and were finishing up their list of parts when the familiar footsteps caught their attention.

"Any luck?" Jake asked, walking up behind Heather and leaning over her shoulder, his arms placed around her, hands on the drafting table.

"Mm. Ready to put the first one together tomorrow and test it. If the prototype works, then we'll have more than one in production by the end of the day." Heather turned on the stool and smiled up at Jake.

Jonah and Aylah were talking quietly, Aylah mentioning it was time for them to call it a night. Jake mentioned heading to bed and Heather yawned.

"I'm ready to turn in, too." Her innocent statement reminded them all of the situation she was in - and the completely oblivious bubble she had stayed in for more than a month. Jake simply nodded and put his arm around her shoulders. Together they started walking to Jake's room.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jake opened the door to his room and wondered what he was going to say. He hadn't even kissed her since the EMPs. He admitted it to himself - he was terrified. What if she didn't want anything to do with him after she found out about Iraq? He'd talked to his dad, to Jonah, too, about the girl, but they'd been in an even worse situation. Heather…hadn't. Now they were staying the night at Jonah's, in Jake's room.

And she was supposed to stay with him tonight. Heather turned near the door to say something, but he stepped inside. She opened her mouth, but Jake went with his gut. If she spoke, he knew he'd never be able to stay. She'd kick him out. He did what he was best at - he acted.

Heather's words, a request for him to sleep with her because she wasn't entirely comfortable staying here without his company, went unheard. She'd never know if she was coherent or a completely awkward idiot. Jake's lips covered hers and, after the surprise, she melted into him. This wasn't exactly what she'd meant, but over the past several weeks, she'd become entranced by him.

Jake pulled her closer, feeling her body all along his. He couldn't stop the groan as her curves moulded to him like they were meant to be together. After a long minute, nipping and teasing and backing out of the kiss just enough to breathe, he looked down at her.

Heather's eyes were soft with surprise and desire. She hadn't felt this good in ages. Her knees were weak, her legs were around Jake's thigh, and it was all she could do to keep from rubbing against his thigh, just to try and relieve the sudden ache. Without even thinking about it, she slid her hands under Jake's shirt and started tugging it off of him. He cooperated, which was good, since he was so much taller. It was seconds later that he had her sweater and shirt off, her bra gone, and she was pressing flesh-to-flesh against that chest she'd had seared into her retinas the day after the bombs. The rest of their clothing seemed to melt away, until there was nothing left but their skin, hot with need, against the cool of the sheets.

The cool metal of the tags he still wore pressed into her skin, making her shiver. His lips were on hers again, stealing thought and leaving only sensation. Heather was about to drown in Jake Green, and she couldn't think of a lovelier way to go. His hands slid up and down her back, hungry for more skin. She felt her fingertips and her short nails dig into the small of his back, felt him hiss against her lips and pull her closer to him, his hips pushing forward. She dug her nails into his back again, loving the reaction he'd given her. She pushed him again and discovered that Jake really did have a wild side - one that matched her own, less advertised, wildness. They took some time, but the need and want were too great for romance-novel emotional exchanges. Jake's demanding, darker sensuality showed, even as she surprised him with her completely uninhibited spirit.

She couldn't catch her breath. Heather wasn't panicking, but she felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to breathe, but all that came out were sobs. She couldn't stop it, and the first harsh sound broke from her throat as the tears began to fall.

"Heather?" she heard, unable to respond. "Oh, God! Heather? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Jake's voice was panicked, worried. If he'd hurt her, he'd never forgive himself.

"No-no…good. So good." She tried again. "Good tears. Not sad. Happy."

"Christ, Heather, if I'd hurt you…" Jake buried his head in her shoulder, not wanting to think about hurting her, even hypothetically. He held her tight as she sobbed for breath, turning so that she was on top of him. She moaned and gasped, "Tighter. Don't let go…"

"Never," he whispered, his arms holding her even closer, making her almost part of him until they could breathe again. As long as it took, it wasn't long enough to stop the tremors that were running through them both.

Jake held her close, wondering when his heartrate would return to something close to normal, running his fingers up and down her back. When they would look back and compare notes sometime later, neither one would be sure exactly when their clothes had come off and they had gotten to the bed. Both, however, would say that there'd never been another experience quite like that one. She was draped over him, her breathing rough, shivering and trembling.

"So, was it me?" Heather asked, referring to his long-time relationship with Emily and the fact that she, Heather, was the one in his arms. She didn't really mean to ask, but the words had popped out.

"Who else would it be?" he asked, his brain not quite ready to filter his responses. He was stupid, still waiting for the rapture to release him from its grip.

"Emily." Neither was hers. Despite all the words, she wasn't really thinking. She was lost in a sea of pleasure, her mouth on a direct-circuit to her brain.

Jake stared at her. "I didn't say her name," he replied. What in the hell? He was starting to function, a little. He was almost capable of wondering what had brought this on. He lifted her up, saw the lost, dazed look in her eyes. It matched the one in his perfectly.

She'd just spent the better part of…he had no idea how long, actually, but a good while, moaning loud enough to wake the dead - and that was before she'd screamed. Several times. And she wanted to know who he was thinking about? The way she'd responded to, well, everything, had driven everyone else from his mind. She hadn't been shy or hesitant until now. What the hell?

"You didn't?" she asked, some of the usual intelligence starting to rise in her eyes. The question she'd asked came to her. She wanted to kick herself. But maybe this was right, the question now. Maybe this time, she'd found someone who wanted her for herself, not as some sort of stand-in or trophy-girl or convenient sex. Maybe this time, things would work out.

"You fascinate me. I can't stop wondering what you're thinking about, what you'll come up with next." He paused. "You keep me thinking, about everything. About you. I…can't say I love you, because this is nothing like what I thought love was. You are the most fascinating, frustrating, beautiful, giving, eccentric woman I've ever met, and I can't get you out of my head." Again, Jake had spoken without censoring his thoughts. When he reviewed what he'd just said, he nearly winced. What woman wants to be told the guy she just, well, seven ways from Sunday didn't love her? Yes, it was official. He, Jacob Victor Green, was an absolute fucking idiot. He'd just lost the best woman he'd ever met.

"Eccentric?" Heather asked, staring at him. "You think I'm eccentric?" She watched as he started to look panicked. He couldn't know. He couldn't. But there it was. He thought she was eccentric. A huge smile bloomed on her face and she gave him a kiss that rocked him. When she let him up for air, he stared at her, completely lost.

"Heather," he asked, breathless, "what the hell?" His eyes glowed with joy and complete confusion.

"You called me eccentric," she said, somehow obscenely pleased with that.

"And you're not mad?" Jake was wondering what was going on, but he knew wherever this ride went, he'd go. He knew in the end, only Heather could take him on this journey.

"No." She laughed, watching his eyes as he blinked and stared. "If you can see that, and you don't react the same way as anyone else - you say you enjoy it and still think I'm beautiful - it means you see all of me. Not just the teacher or the mechanic or the geek, but…everything." She gave him a sweet, happy smile. "You're pretty eccentric yourself, Jake."

Jake smiled slowly, as understanding finally filtered into him. He hugged her hard, whispered to against her hair, "Wherever this goes, Heather, wherever you take us - I'll be here."

She nodded against his shoulder, enjoying the tight squeeze. "I know."

The best part - he didn't let go, even as they kissed again. And this time, they went slow, learning each other so carefully that it was almost a form of worship.

J*J*J*J*J*J

In the next room, Jonah and Aylah started chuckling. The shrieked "Jaaaaake!" was muffled by the walls, but not by much.

"To think we were worried about her reaction," he said, Aylah comfortably at his side.

"Mm. Maybe we should worry about his stamina," she said, running her hand over the familiar war-wounds on Jonah's chest. "He is older, you know." It was a deliberate dig.

"Brat," he murmured. "He's older by what, two years?"

"Mm-hmmm." She smiled up at him, propping her chin on his chest. "Think he can keep up?

"You're not talking about Jake, are you, Aylah?" Jonah asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "And it's been almost a month…"

"Recovery time?" she asked innocently. When his eyes narrowed and he flipped her onto her back, she gasped and stared up at him, surprised. "Jonah?" she breathed, hardly able to believe what he was doing.

"You're not as loud," he said, kissing her ear, her neck. "Can you be as wild?" he asked. "As demanding?" His lips slid down to her breasts and Aylah's breath came quicker. "As uncontrolled?"

Aylah's breath was shaky as she whispered back, her voice nearly gone with sudden want, an unusual emotion for her. "Let's find out." Her reaction surprised herself.

Jonah smiled. He slid back up her body and kissed her long and deep. That was as close to a demand as he'd ever heard her make. And he was curious. It was time she learned more about the man in her bed, Jonah decided, starting with the pleasure he got from an uninhibited woman.

He'd been so careful with her every time they'd been together, and they'd only turned to one another when the need was great. Tonight, they were together because they wanted to be. It was a good relationship, no matter how strange others may see it. They could fight, talk, trust each other, but neither one mentioned love. He still loved Sylvie, and she'd been dead for almost five years. Aylah couldn't love, not like he had.

He was rougher than he'd intended to be, but she met him with each stroke. It wasn't long before she was calling out his name, then drawing out the last syllable with a series of sharp, hard full-body convulsions. He followed seconds later.

They collapsed together, breathing hard. After a few minutes, they heard the unmistakable squeak of bedsprings and the sound of a woman happy with her man. They looked at one another and started laughing.

It was a sneaky feeling, happiness. Finally, it had caught up to Aylah. She snuggled under Jonah, protesting as he started to move to the side. He looked down at her and smiled. And stayed.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Down the hall, not far, Skylar stuck her head under her pillow and screamed into the mattress.

Now all she needed was to hear Emily, down the hall in some guy's room, getting laid!

As if in a nightmare, there was a squeaking noise coming from Emily's new room-and a muffled, high-pitched voice calling out, "Yes…ooooh…like that…more…faster…harder!"

The teen resolved that somehow, she would convey her displeasure at the rudely interrupted sleep to the responsible parties.

J*J*J*J*J*J

She remembered that afternoon well. It was the one when Mitchell Cafferty had pinned her against the wall and kissed her so hard her lips bruised. She hadn't forgiven him yet.

"_I told you, Emily, I'm not your pet banker and I'm not Jake," Mitch growled, stalking forward and pinning Emily to the wall of her room. "You come after me like that again, I'll take it as foreplay."_

"_I don't want you," she spat, angry at his presumption. The edge Mitch had kept her nervous. That was all._

_He smiled, a slow, knowing smirk. "Really?" he asked, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Then what is that scent?" he breathed on her neck. He caught the hand that came toward his face, pinning it to the wall. "I know what you want, Emily. Your banker-boy rolls over for you, anything you want. Jake was wild enough, but too sweet." He slid an arm around her waist and jerked her into full contact with him. _

"_You want a man you can't control. Someone who scares you, but won't hurt you. You want a man who'll take what he wants, who won't be careful with you when you want it rough." He squeezed her arm, kissing her hard. She'd responded to the kiss, gotten lost in the controlled violence of it. And she'd ached, feeling her lips swell and bruise as soon as he pulled back. "And you like it rough, Emily. You can tell yourself you want to be cherished, petted and adored, but I know better." His lips brushed her ear. "Think it over."_

_He let her go, standing against the wall, panting, a dazed look in her eye as she glared at him._

He was in the breakroom, warning _her_ about the men at Jonah's? What they wanted? After kissing her senseless only days before?

Hot blue eyes followed his path and she picked up the first thing that came to hand. It was a heavy metal dish, an ashtray for her not-so-secret vice. She threw it at him, hitting him in the shoulder.

"Go to hell, Mitchell Cafferty," she snarled behind him, denying the traitorous ache inside her. She'd loved Jake. She was now in love with a man who'd disappeared. She felt hungry for a man she couldn't stand.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, turning slowly. He smiled as he watched her standing there, the anger on her face, the heat in her eyes that had nothing to do with temper. "Oh, you need it bad, don't you?" he purred, covering the distance between them easily. He backed her through the door and across the hall, into his room. He turned her around and shoved her onto her bed, watching as she flipped over and started to sit up. He pushed her down and worked the buttons of her jeans with one hand. A wicked smile was on his face, heat in his eyes to match hers.

He pulled her jeans down to her knees and turned her onto her stomach. He wasn't gentle. She didn't want him to be.

Moments before she fell into a pleasure-induced faint, Mitch shouted his own release. He looked at Emily, eyes closed, breathing shallow and slow, heartrate hammering. He took enough time to recover, then gently lifted her and put her in bed. He took off the shirt she was still wearing and slipped out of his own clothes.

Before falling asleep, he wrapped Emily in his arms, holding her close. Cherishing her. He couldn't let her know it yet, but he'd loved her since high school. Maybe even before that.

Emily woke early in the morning, strong arms holding her. At first, she thought it was Roger, but the weight was wrong. There were more muscles there than Roger had, rougher hands. She moved and felt the excess of the night before bloom through her body, the feeling of incredible sex riding her like a bruise. Then the hand moved, stroking her carefully.

She was silent, not knowing what to say or do. Soft lips touched her neck and whispered, "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

When she turned, she saw Mitch's face over her shoulder. Her eyes closed slowly and she thought back to the night before. How had he done it? He'd turned her into a wildcat, scratching and clawing and screaming in protest even as she lifted to meet him. Now, those lips that had bruised hers were sliding delicately down her arm and back up to her shoulder. She turned to face him, knowing she had to say something, but completely clueless as to what.

She didn't get the chance. The kiss he gave her was so tender she felt tears well up in her eyes. His hands caressed her softly, every bruise and ache vanishing under his gentleness. He rose over her, sparking a broken whisper of protest, but was so careful with her that the words were lost in a sigh.

Without planning it, without considering it, without believing it possible, Emily Prowse made love to Mitchell Cafferty in the early morning light of late October.

She watched Mitchell's eyes, saw the gentleness there. And knew.

He was right. She needed someone rougher, tougher than the men she'd chosen for herself.

For some odd reason, she was obscenely happy that this rough boy had chosen her, then claimed her for his own. But she still hated him. Didn't she?

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	20. The Days After: 28 U read warnings

**On a Dark Horse-21-FULL TEXT**

Novellas/Chapter

**Timeline:** Bombs + 28

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

**Warning:** Mild language, adult content, rough play. I don't write for young'uns.

**Note: **Scenes are NOT edited from this particular chapter! There is an EDITED chapter, titled The Days After: 28E. If you don't want to see the whole thing, or if you're not old enough to (on the off chance there are curious younger ones around here) then read the edited chapter. If you prefer uncensored texts, read this one BUT you are hereby warned: I do not write for children/young adults. If you read chap 15, you know that by now. If you haven't, I suggest you peruse those before hopping over to the full-scene version of this chapter. Please keep in mind that I downplayed some of the descriptions in chapter 15.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Heather watched the beginners sort through the umpteenth box of myriad parts the men had brought in from the junkyard. They were good with the chore, and Lisa had a knack for recognizing stressed parts that couldn't handle the full load of an engine. Right now, Lisa had been pulled from cutting and parts-layout and was teaching others the names and possible uses of the different parts, since the class had grown to include some younger students who needed a bit of practical knowledge to continue working on the research. Those parts could be used for simple machines, usually, like hand-crank washing machines some of the guys were putting together for trade.

Heather was taking a break from her job this hour, which was cutting up some sheet metal, aluminum from one of the downed airplanes they'd scavenged, for another wind turbine, this time for new blades for the Stevens place, which was where the girls Jonah and the men had rescued were staying with six or seven senior citizens. The girls were comfortable with the seniors, and they were healing slowly, physically and emotionally. Mentally, Aylah told her they'd never be fully healed but they could function. Heather knew that, understood that better than anyone suspected, which suited her to the ground.

The Stevens place had lost electricity when the EMPs had fried the power grid. The generator was useable, but no one wanted to spend the gasoline until it was absolutely necessary. At the town meeting the morning after the EMPs, it had taken her more than a few hours of explaining what the effect of an EMP was to different people before she'd gotten the information across. It would appear that a degree in Physics was not considered normal for a woman - or an elementary school teacher, even if she'd been instrumental in keeping people from panicking the night of the EMP itself. She dreaded explaining the difference in forcing the aluminum blades to develop the protective coating of aluminum oxide and iron oxide, better known as rust. The white coat would protect the blades, keep them from being damaged or wearing away, but she knew the kids wouldn't get it at first. Neither would the townspeople. Was it her fault that she hadn't been able to make up her mind in her sophomore year of college and wound up with a double major?

And then there was that kiss. Wow. And it hadn't helped that everyone was still talking about it. Like no one had ever kissed in the middle of Main Street before! Well, considering Jericho, they probably hadn't, but still. She melted a bit inside every time she thought of that kiss, which she tried not to do more than once every hour or so. That was hard work, not thinking about it. Fortunately, there were other things to keep her mind off of it. Like the one that just walked into the room.

Leon. Again. He was helpful, generous with his time, but he tended to hover when Lisa was present. Granted, the girl was seventeen, but she still was a minor and her parents were already nervous about this "practical applications" at Jonah's. They'd calmed down since the men had brought back the girls who were now afraid of almost every male between ten and eighty _but_ their rescuers. And that included Leon. She doubted that such a distinction would bring comfort and joy to the Carmichaels' hearts, though.

Heather killed the flame, but kept the torch ready, pulled off her mask and stood up, ostensibly stretching her legs from the crouch she'd had trouble holding - her leg still hurt, but it was pretty much healed up. April had put her in a light splint earlier in the week.

"Can I help you Leon?" It was the third time that she'd told him no, they could handle it. In the last hour.

"Just checking to see if you needed any help," he said, smiling at her. His eyes were focused on Lisa, though, and Heather was not in the mood for a gentle reminder.

"No, and get your eyes back in your head. She's too young for you." Heather's grip tightened on the waiting torch. "For the last time, we do not need your help in here. You have other things to do."

This time, Leon wasn't leaving like usual. Heather glanced over at the girls and saw Lisa smiling back.

"Looks like not everyone feels that way." He smirked, drifting to the side. Aylah and Jonah, who had been talking about the progress made on the changes they were planning for the turbines and the potential of scavenging in old barns and a few abandoned farms for old mechanical governors the city engineer just had to have no matter how many times Aylah explained that a governor was not strictly necessary, paused to listen to this exchange. What Heather did next would place her firmly in one category or another. Would she be the office's pet teacher and Jake's woman, or would she be a damned good mechanic who happened to be Jake's woman? Oh, she'd already been adopted as "little sister". Mitchell and D'Shea even teased her by calling her "Sis". But Heather was still more Jake's woman than her own woman, and this type of test was going to have to happen some time.

"Back off, Leon," she said, her generally perky voice flattening as her eyes grew completely serious and unamused.

"Why should I listen to you?" The challenge was issued. With a grin, even.

"Because I'm the one with the cutting torch," she said, giving him a bright, false smile and lifting the torch. She didn't budge as he stood there, fully in her face and her space. She thumbed the flame on. "Have a nice day."

Leon weighed his options. If she hadn't turned on the flame, he'd've chanced it. He looked at her carefully, then turned and walked away. She was just unpredictable enough that she might do it.

Heather watched him go, thumbing off the flame again and taking a deep, shaky breath. She looked over at the grandfather clock she'd brought into the shop to keep track of the afternoon lessons. So long as the weights were kept in place and the pendulum swung, it was reliable.

"Okay, kids. Five minutes - wrap it up for the day and get back to town." She walked over and put the torch down, cutting off the fuel supply at the source. Her mask followed it, and so did the long gloves. She looked at her hands. They weren't shaking. Her stomach was jumping around like it was in an earthquake and her throat was dry, but her hands were steady. Weird.

The kids packed up and walked out, most of them riding horses or coming in a horse-drawn cart. Most of them had at least one weapon, just in case of trouble or easy, legal game on the way to or from their practicals.

Jonah and Aylah watched as Heather stood there, staring down at the torch. As the kids filed out, they drifted over.

"Word of advice," Jonah said, his voice quiet, but making Heather jump a mile. She turned to him, wide-eyed. "Never make a threat you aren't willing to back up. Especially not here."

Heather looked at him, unsteady, but certain of herself. "That's just it. I was."

Aylah and Jonah looked at her for a long moment. Her clear blue eyes stared back at them. There was no fear in them, just a quiet realization. They believed her. Finally Jonah nodded. It was time to change the subject.

"Getting late. If you're done for the night, you need to get started back to town." His lip twitched in a grin. "Charlotte may be sturdy, but her lights aren't working yet."

Heather shook her head. "Not yet. I needed to go over some things with Aylah. I think I found something in one of the library's mechanical texts that will give us the last little bit we need to make a reliable mechanical thermostat, but we'll need to improvise, since we don't have the exact parts."

"Not a problem," Aylah said. "I found another text - it was in some books I bought several years ago that I never had time to read - that has a better diagram than the one we found last week. Better, I think we have more of the materials we need for it, and we can do a quick-fix to install it on the greenhouses." The new blades were for better efficiency for the lower buildings in town. The turbines were working, and there was enough power for the most important things in Town Hall, and Gracie's. "If only to make the city engineer feeeeel better about it." She rolled her eyes, her opinion of Jericho's city engineer well known to Jonah and Heather. "Generally, it's pretty damned easy to tell when a greenhouse is too hot. The plants react. We could use these parts in a more efficient manner."

"I'll leave you to it, then. I'm meeting Johnston and Eric about a run to Rogue River, if the latest set of aerials is correct." That meant he'd also be talking with Jake, since Jake still did the aerials. With that, Jonah gave Aylah a quick kiss - something that he did occasionally in public - and stalked out. It had been not quite a month, and he and his boys were already firmly back into the town's good graces. Even Mitch had straightened out. D'Shea had been unusually relaxed and easygoing, but he assigned that more to Arielle's influence. A single mother of two who'd survived an abusive husband in Denver - and the jerk was dead, thank God - she was more than D'Shea's match. What's more, her kids seemed to have a magical effect on the horniest of his crew. Around those twin girls, he actually turned up sweet.

Aylah and Heather watched Jonah leave, then turned back to their pet project. If they got this done, they could put the students on the gathering and basic assemblies, leaving the extremely persnickety parts for themselves. Despite the differences in their attitudes and personalities, they got along well together.

Five hours later, Jonah and Jake returned. Aylah and Heather had ironed out the last problems and were finishing up their list of parts when the familiar footsteps caught their attention.

"Any luck?" Jake asked, walking up behind Heather and leaning over her shoulder, his arms placed around her, hands on the drafting table.

"Mm. Ready to put the first one together tomorrow and test it. If the prototype works, then we'll have more than one in production by the end of the day." Heather turned on the stool and smiled up at Jake.

Jonah and Aylah were talking quietly, Aylah mentioning it was time for them to call it a night. Jake mentioned heading to bed and Heather yawned.

"I'm ready to turn in, too." Her innocent statement reminded them all of the situation she was in - and the completely oblivious bubble she had stayed in for more than a month. Jake simply nodded and put his arm around her shoulders. Together they started walking to Jake's room.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jake opened the door to his room and wondered what he was going to say. He hadn't even kissed her since the EMPs. He admitted it to himself - he was terrified. What if she didn't want anything to do with him after she found out about Iraq? He'd talked to his dad, to Jonah, too, about the girl, but they'd been in an even worse situation. Heather…hadn't. Now they were staying the night at Jonah's, in Jake's room.

And she was supposed to stay with him tonight. Heather turned near the door to say something, but he stepped inside. She opened her mouth, but Jake went with his gut. If she spoke, he knew he'd never be able to stay. She'd kick him out. He did what he was best at - he acted.

Heather's words, a request for him to sleep with her because she wasn't entirely comfortable staying here without his company, went unheard. She'd never know if she was coherent or a completely awkward idiot. Jake's lips covered hers and, after the surprise, she melted into him. This wasn't exactly what she'd meant, but over the past several weeks, she'd become entranced by him.

Jake pulled her closer, feeling her body all along his. He couldn't stop the groan as her curves moulded to him like they were meant to be together. After a long minute, nipping and teasing and backing out of the kiss just enough to breathe, he looked down at her.

Heather's eyes were soft with surprise and desire. She hadn't felt this good in ages. Her knees were weak, her legs were around Jake's thigh, and it was all she could do to keep from rubbing against his thigh, just to try and relieve the sudden ache. Without even thinking about it, she slid her hands under Jake's shirt and started tugging it off of him. He cooperated, which was good, since he was so much taller. It was seconds later that he had her sweater and shirt off, her bra gone, and she was pressing flesh-to-flesh against that chest she'd had seared into her retinas the day after the bombs.

The cool metal of the tags he still wore pressed into her skin, making her shiver. His lips were on hers again, stealing thought and leaving only sensation. Heather was about to drown in Jake Green, and she couldn't think of a lovelier way to go. His hands slid up and down her back, hungry for more skin. She felt her fingertips and her short nails dig into the small of his back, felt him hiss against her lips and pull her closer to him, his hips pushing forward. She dug her nails into his back again, loving the reaction he'd given her. Then she moved her hands to his jeans and unfastened them, sliding them from his hips. She dug her nails into the soft flesh just behind his hipbones and this time, he pushed her down to the bed and ripped his lips from hers.

She didn't have time to protest, because his mouth immediately captured her nipple, making her arch and cry out, a hoarse, aching groan. Her hands clutched at his shoulders and her nails scratched him as he worked the button on her jeans open and pulled the denim off her roughly, taking the scrap of lace she called panties with them. He didn't give her time to object, but slid down to her hips and scraped his teeth along the hollow next to the point of her hipbone. She bucked in response, shuddering and shaking from need. It had been so long…so long.

He didn't end the tease then, but nipped her thigh as he spread her knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed, lining her hips up perfectly for him to kneel and hold her still. As her legs opened, he felt the stretch and pull of skin across the tendon high on the inside of her thigh, right at the groin. He leaned in and gently bit the tendon. Heather's hips jerked in response as she yelped and scrambled for something to hold. There was only his hair, and her fingers tangled into the shaggy brown locks. She tried to pull him forward, where she needed him. But he shook his head.

"Tell me," he whispered, nipping her thigh.

"Jake, I need-" she broke off, as his lips wrapped around the matching tendon and she moaned. "Please…don't tease me…"

"I'm just getting started," he said, laughing, his breath hot on her now soaking center.

"P-please, Jake…" She was ready to cry, to scream. She tugged on his hair, but he nipped licked the hollow of skin made as the tendon stretched and her legs fell wider apart.

"What do you want?' he asked, still holding out. He watched her as she shook her head and moaned, her back arching up as his tongue traced the raised flesh to the thigh. She was beyond thought already. He wanted her thinking. This was fun, but if she wasn't thinking…Oh, God, she was incredible when she thought. And when she didn't. He sucked on the inside of her thigh. "Tell me."

"Words…" she begged, not knowing to tell him. She didn't remember the words. So long…so much heat…

"Taste," he said, licking her thigh. "Bite," he suited actions to words. "Suck," again, he matched the actions. "Which do you want, Heather?" His voice was lower, rougher than she remembered and she shivered with need.

"All-" she stared, then had to lick her lips. "All of them, Jaaaaake!" she moaned, dragging out his name as he finally decided to be merciful. His tongue touched her just as she started his name. It was mere seconds before she was bucking and moaning, pulling him closer. And right as she was gasping for air, so close she couldn't breathe, he stopped.

The scream of pure frustration made him laugh. He watched her, his eyes almost black, as she moaned and writhed, and whimpered.

"Tell me," he said again, pure devilishness making him do it. "Tell me what you want, Heather," his breath floating over her with each word. This time, she had the words.

"Lick me," she groaned. "Bite me. Suck me. Please, Jake, until I come. Please, please, please, please - OHHH!" His lips closed on her again and the shock of the heat from his mouth made her breath leave her in a near-shriek. He took his time, making her repeat what she wanted, exactly what she wanted, until she finally gasped and bucked under him, making him hold her hips hard to keep with her. He tasted her until he'd wrung the last whimper from her.

As she lay there, dazed and trembling, he moved her to lie with her head on a pillow. In moments, he slid over her, his jeans a distant memory.

"Look at me, Heather," he whispered, glad when those wide blue eyes turned his way. "Can you?" he asked, his voice rough, his need making him press her into the mattress, his weight so right on her. She felt him between her thighs, pressing against her, holding back just enough.

She couldn't speak, had barely enough muscle coordination to manage it, but she lifted her arms to his shoulders and her legs around his hips, feeling him start to push into her. It had been over three years, so she was tight, almost too tight for him. He started to pull away, suddenly thinking that her innocence wasn't just a sunny attitude.

"No!" she said, digging her nails into his shoulders. "Don't stop, Jake. I want this - I want you. Here. Now. Just like this." She looked into his eyes, pleading without words. When he didn't move, she pulled him down to her and whispered in his ear, "Make love to me, Jake. Fuck me. Make me scream for more…" Her nails ran down his neck, making him shudder and press forward.

By the second word he was pushing into her, his breath hitching as she opened so slowly around him, so tight. By the end, he was hoping he could make her scream again, that he wouldn't explode in seconds.

Seconds, hours - it didn't matter. Heather was gasping as he stretched her, the angle they'd somehow managed without working at it was just right. And she moaned for him. His lips slid down her shoulder, up to her jaw, her ear, finally her lips. He kissed her again, moving over her, catching her moans and sighs in his mouth. She whimpered as he moved faster, deeper than she was ready for, but felt her eyes roll back and her back arch for more when his teeth clamped on her neck, right at the spot where the shoulder meets the neck. As he nipped and teased her neck, she licked his shoulders, his chest, kissed his jaw, nipped his ear, making him buck hard into her.

She found it - the key. She locked her lips around his earlobe and sucked gently, feeling her hips start moving in their own rhythm as she drove him absolutely wild. Moments or minutes later, she threw her head back and started bucking under him. He wrapped his arms under her shoulders, pressed her deeper into the mattress, and kept moving in the same primitive rhythm he'd found. She suddenly stilled, then felt her entire body explode as every muscle, every nerve overloaded with pure sensation.

She didn't hear her own shrieks of ecstasy, or Jake's shout as he drove deep into her and stayed there, his body shuddering and shaking over her. Jake half-collapsed on her, his weight pressed down on her and, after a minute, he began to move so she could breathe without being crushed by him. She whimpered a tiny "No!" and tried to hold him in place, but her arms were so weak and her legs had fallen to the bed, her feet had been planted by his knees to give her better leverage as she met him.

He stayed where he was, feeling her breath, so short and hitched, turn into a set of choked sobs.

She couldn't catch her breath. Heather wasn't panicking, but she felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to breathe, but all that came out were sobs. She couldn't stop it, and the first harsh sound broke from her throat as the tears began to fall.

"Heather?" she heard, unable to respond. "Oh, God! Heather? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Jake's voice was panicked, worried. If he'd hurt her, he'd never forgive himself.

"No-no…good. So good." She tried again. "Good tears. Not sad. Happy."

"Christ, Heather, if I'd hurt you…" Jake buried his head in her shoulder, not wanting to think about hurting her, even hypothetically. He held her tight as she sobbed for breath, turning so that she was on top of him.

She moaned and gasped, "Tighter. Don't let go…"

"Never," he whispered, his arms holding her even closer, making her almost part of him until they could breathe again. As long as it took, it wasn't long enough to stop the tremors that were running through them both.

Jake held her close, wondering when his heartrate would return to something close to normal, running his fingers up and down her back. When they looked back and compared notes sometime later, neither one was sure exactly when their clothes had come off and they had gotten to the bed. Both, however, said that there'd never been another experience quite like that one. She was draped over him, her breathing rough, shivering and trembling.

"So, was it me?" Heather asked, referring to his long-time relationship with Emily and the fact that she, Heather, was the one in his arms. She didn't really mean to ask, but the words had popped out.

"Who else would it be?" he asked, his brain not quite ready to filter his responses. He was stupid, still waiting for the rapture to release him from its grip.

"Emily." Neither was hers. Despite all the words, she wasn't really thinking. She was lost in a sea of pleasure, her mouth on a direct-circuit to her brain.

Jake stared at her. "I didn't say her name," he replied. What in the hell? He was starting to function, a little. He was almost capable of wondering what had brought this on. He lifted her up, saw the lost, dazed look in her eyes. It matched the one in his perfectly.

She'd just spent the better part of…he had no idea how long, actually, but a good while, moaning loud enough to wake the dead-and that was before she'd screamed. Several times. And she wanted to know who he was thinking about? The way she'd responded to, well, everything, had driven everyone else from his mind. She hadn't been shy or hesitant until now. What the hell?

"You didn't?" she asked, some of the usual intelligence starting to rise in her eyes. The question she'd asked came to her. She wanted to kick herself. But maybe this was right, the question now. Maybe this time, she'd found someone who wanted her for herself, not as some sort of stand-in or trophy-girl or convenient sex. Maybe this time, things would work out.

"You fascinate me. I can't stop wondering what you're thinking about, what you'll come up with next." He paused. "You keep me thinking, about everything. About you. I…can't say I love you, because this is nothing like what I thought love was. You are the most fascinating, frustrating, beautiful, giving, eccentric woman I've ever met, and I can't get you out of my head." Again, Jake had spoken without censoring his thoughts. When he reviewed what he'd just said, he nearly winced. What woman wants to be told the guy she just, well, seven ways from Sunday didn't love her? Yes, it was official. He, Jacob Victor Green, was an absolute fucking idiot. He'd just lost the best woman he'd ever met.

"Eccentric?" Heather asked, staring at him. "You think I'm eccentric?" She watched as he started to look panicked. He couldn't know. He couldn't. But there it was. He thought she was eccentric. A huge smile bloomed on her face and she gave him a kiss that rocked him. When she let him up for air, he stared at her, completely lost.

"Heather," he asked, breathless, "what the hell?" His eyes glowed with joy and complete confusion.

"You called me eccentric," she said, somehow obscenely pleased with that.

"And you're not mad?" Jake was wondering what was going on, but he knew wherever this ride went, he'd go. He knew in the end, only Heather could take him on this journey.

"No." She laughed, watching his eyes as he blinked and stared. "If you can see that, and you don't react the same way as anyone else - you say you enjoy it and still think I'm beautiful - it means you see all of me. Not just the teacher or the mechanic or the geek, but…everything." She gave him a sweet, happy smile. "You're pretty eccentric yourself, Jake."

Jake smiled slowly, as understanding finally filtered into him. He hugged her hard, whispered to against her hair, "Wherever this goes, Heather, wherever you take us - I'll be here."

She nodded against his shoulder, enjoying the tight squeeze. "I know."

The best part - he didn't let go, even as they kissed again. And this time, they went slow, learning each other so carefully that it was almost a form of worship.

J*J*J*J*J*J

In the next room, Jonah and Aylah started chuckling. The shrieked "Jaaaaake!" was muffled by the walls, but not by much.

"To think we were worried about her reaction," he said, Aylah comfortably at his side.

"Mm. Maybe we should worry about his stamina," she said, running her hand over the familiar war-wounds on Jonah's chest. "He is older, you know." It was a deliberate dig.

"Brat," he murmured. "He's older by what, two years?"

"Mm-hmmm." She smiled up at him, propping her chin on his chest. "Think he can keep up?

"You're not talking about Jake, are you, Aylah?" Jonah asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "And it's been almost a month…"

"Recovery time?" she asked innocently. When his eyes narrowed and he flipped her onto her back, she gasped and stared up at him, surprised. "Jonah?" she breathed, hardly able to believe what he was doing.

"You're not as loud," he said, kissing her ear, her neck. "Can you be as wild?" he asked. "As demanding?" His lips slid down to her breasts and Aylah's breath came quicker. "As uncontrolled?"

Aylah's breath was shaky as she whispered back, her voice nearly gone with sudden want, an unusual emotion for her. "Let's find out." Her reaction surprised herself.

Jonah smiled. He slid back up her body and kissed her long and deep. That was as close to a demand as he'd ever heard her make. And he was curious. It was time she learned more about the man in her bed, Jonah decided, starting with the pleasure he got from an uninhibited woman.

He'd been so careful with her, and they'd only turned to one another when the need was great. Tonight, they were together because they wanted to be. It was a good relationship, no matter how strange others may see it. They could fight, talk, trust each other, but neither one mentioned love. He still loved Sylvie, and she'd been dead for almost five years. Aylah couldn't love, not like he had.

He captured one nipple in his mouth and bit gently, making her gasp with surprise. Something he'd never done - use teeth. She had marks from teeth that still hadn't faded. It was time she learned how much fun they could be. Jonah nibbled his way down her body to her hip, spent a long minute teasing the hollow of her hip by her thigh. She shuddered and gasped, then yelped when his lips touched her.

"Jonah!" she said, breathing hard. "You've never-"

He sucked her sharply once, making her break off. "I know," he said, looking up at her, using his tongue to tease. "It's time I did." And with that, he continued until she was bucking under him, holding onto the wrought iron headboard and calling out on broken breaths.

Aylah was flying. Floating. Aching - and he wouldn't keep going and let her finish! She arched as he teased her, then nipped at her thigh. She wriggled under his attention, then nearly screamed in frustration as he stopped and stretched out beside her. She didn't stop to think of his intentions. She turned and pounced, kissing him hungrily.

No one had ever done this to her. Ever. No one had left her panting and aching for more. Never. And he had stopped!

She slid into place over his hips and worked, frustrated and trembling, to get him into place. He was going to rub her right, dammit, starting _right now_.

Jonah chuckled as she cursed him, louder than usual, and then groaned as she slid him inside. She was hot, tight, so ready for him. He let her take control, riding him. As her breathing grew unsteady and her rhythm started breaking, he sat up and managed to turn her onto her back. She always had trouble with this, couldn't drive herself over the edge. But she would learn. Tonight, though, he would give her what she needed - and there it was, the claws digging into his hips.

So long since he'd felt that. He was rougher than he'd intended to be, but she met him with each stroke. It wasn't long before she was calling out his name, then drawing out the last syllable with a series of sharp, hard full-body convulsions. He followed seconds later.

They collapsed together, breathing hard. After a few minutes, they heard the unmistakable squeak of bedsprings and the sound of a woman happy with her man. They looked at one another and started laughing.

It was a sneaky feeling, happiness. Finally, it had caught up to Aylah. She snuggled under Jonah, mewing a protesting as he started to move to the side. He looked down at her and smiled. And stayed.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Down the hall, not far, Skylar stuck her head under her pillow and screamed into the mattress.

Now all she needed was to hear Emily, down the hall in some guy's room, getting laid!

As if in a nightmare, there was a squeaking noise coming from Emily's new room - and a muffled, high-pitched voice calling out, "Yes…ooooh…like that…more…faster…harder!"

The teen resolved that somehow, she would convey her displeasure at the rudely interrupted sleep to the responsible parties.

J*J*J*J*J*J

She remembered that afternoon well. It was the one when Mitchell Cafferty had pinned her against the wall and kissed her so hard her lips bruised. She hadn't forgiven him yet.

"_I told you, Emily, I'm not your pet banker and I'm not Jake," Mitch growled, stalking forward and pinning Emily to the wall of her room. "You come after me like that again, I'll take it as foreplay."_

"_I don't want you," she spat, angry at his presumption. The edge Mitch had kept her nervous. That was all._

_He smiled, a slow, knowing smirk. "Really?" he asked, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Then what is that scent?" he breathed on her neck. He caught the hand that came toward his face, pinning it to the wall. "I know what you want, Emily. Your banker-boy rolls over for you, anything you want. Jake was wild enough, but too sweet." He slid an arm around her waist and jerked her into full contact with him. _

"_You want a man you can't control. Someone who scares you, but won't hurt you. You want a man who'll take what he wants, who won't be careful with you when you want it rough." He squeezed her arm, kissing her hard. She'd responded to the kiss, gotten lost in the controlled violence of it. And she'd ached, feeling her lips swell and bruise as soon as he pulled back. "And you like it rough, Emily. You can tell yourself you want to be cherished, petted and adored, but I know better." His lips brushed her ear. "Think it over."_

_He let her go, standing against the wall, panting, a dazed look in her eye as she glared at him._

He was in the breakroom, warning _her_ about the men at Jonah's? What they wanted? After kissing her senseless only days before?

Hot blue eyes followed his path and she picked up the first thing that came to hand. It was a heavy metal dish, an ashtray for her not-so-secret vice. She threw it at him, hitting him in the shoulder.

"Go to hell, Mitchell Cafferty," she snarled behind him, denying the traitorous ache inside her. She'd loved Jake. She was now in love with a man who'd disappeared. She was hungry for a man she couldn't stand.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, turning slowly. He smiled as he watched her standing there, the anger on her face, the heat in her eyes that had nothing to do with temper. "Oh, you need it bad, don't you?" he purred, covering the distance between them easily. He backed her through the door and across the hall, into his room. He turned her around and shoved her onto her bed, watching as she flipped over and started to sit up. He pushed her down and worked the buttons of her jeans with one hand. A wicked smile was on his face, heat in his eyes to match hers.

He pulled her jeans down to her knees and turned her onto her stomach.

"I'm not your sweetheart," he said, leaning down as he held her and still managed to work open his jeans. "When I tell you I'll just take, I mean it." His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "And you like that." He slid into her, the warm, wet welcome intensified by her harsh sound of protest-need. "You like this, Emily. You crave it. Admit it," he said, biting her shoulder at the join of her neck. He slid out and waited. She levered herself backward, pushing against him.

"Mitch," she groaned, wanting to hate him, knowing she wanted this. Wanting to fight, needing the hard man Mitch was to hold her. "Yes…I want it. Give it - ohhh." She moaned as he moved back into her. In less than a minute, she was writhing as he held her in place and started moving harder, faster. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…" she kept saying, each thrust making her bark out the syllables.

Suddenly, he pulled out of her and flipped her onto her back. He pushed her legs up high and ripped off her jeans. She didn't have time to process the change when he pinned her arms down hard and started pushing into her, hard and deep.

"Yes!" she said, her voice getting louder. "Ooooh…" The sound was harsh, hard and low. "Like that…More! Faster!" she bucked up to meet him, demanding "Harder!" When Mitch complied, she started struggling against him, wanting to scream with pleasure, knowing that he was rough enough for her.

She'd never had it so good, so hard. He was an animal - and she wanted more. "Fuck me harder," she said, and he laughed, stopping completely, just outside her, letting her feel him, but not take him in. She started struggling to push him back inside. Started to scream in frustration.

Mitch's lips came down hard on hers, his teeth biting her lower lip hard enough to leave a mark. Then he sucked the spot, raising a bruise. And she bucked her hips to get him to keep going. When he pulled away, he whispered, "How I give it to you, when I give it to you. And you've been naughty, Emmy-Jean." It was the only warning she got.

Mitch rolled to a sitting position on the bed and pulled the half-naked Emily onto his lap. He swatted her backside with his open palm. A startled breath whooshed out of her. Then she started to fight.

"You little hellcat," he said, spanking her again. Seven hard swats with his hand and then sliding to the floor with her, right behind her, ready to push in again. He decided to give her just a taste.

When he did she screamed for more. So he popped her again. She bucked and shoved back onto him, surprising him with her strength.

In seconds, he was riding her hard, pushing her down to the floor so he could hold her wrists out from her and control the encounter fully. She was making harsh, rough sounds with each breath and he could feel her starting to tremble and twitch inside. He rose up, pressing her wrists into the floor, changing the angle just a bit - and with the next hard, deep stroke, she came apart.

He listened as Emily Jean Prowse, the bitch who'd never paid a moment's attention to him, shouted out his name as she came harder than she ever had in her life. He didn't want the moment to end, so he levered over onto her back and pushed into her again, biting his own lip and throwing his head back to control his need to burst. He managed it - and in seconds she was coming again. He pushed even deeper, harder, faster. This time, she came so long she passed out.

Moments before she fell into a pleasure-induced faint, Mitch shouted his own release. He looked at Emily, eyes closed, breathing shallow and slow, heartrate hammering. He took enough time to recover, then gently lifted her and put her in bed. He took off the shirt she was still wearing and slipped out of his own clothes.

Before falling asleep, he wrapped Emily in his arms, holding her close. Cherishing her. He couldn't let her know it yet, but he'd loved her since high school. Maybe even before that.

Emily woke early in the morning, strong arms holding her. At first, she thought it was Roger, but the weight was wrong. There were more muscles there than Roger had, rougher hands. She moved and felt the excess of the night before bloom through her body, the feeling of incredible sex riding her like a bruise. Then the hand moved, stroking her carefully.

She was silent, not knowing what to say or do. Soft lips touched her neck and whispered, "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

When she turned, she saw Mitch's face over her shoulder. Her eyes closed slowly and she thought back to the night before. How had he done it? He'd turned her into a wildcat, scratching and clawing and screaming in protest even as she lifted to meet him. Now, those lips that had bruised hers were sliding delicately down her arm and back up to her shoulder. She turned to face him, knowing she had to say something, but completely clueless as to what.

She didn't get the chance. The kiss he gave her was so tender she felt tears well up in her eyes. His hands caressed her softly, every bruise and ache vanishing under his gentleness. He rose over her, sparking a broken whisper of protest, but was so careful with her that the words were lost in a sigh.

Without planning it, without considering it, without believing it possible, Emily Prowse made love to Mitchell Cafferty in the early morning light of late October.

This time, when she came, it was an almost delicate ripple. She watched Mitchell's eyes, saw the gentleness there. And knew.

He was right. She needed someone rougher, tougher than the men she'd chosen for herself.

For some odd reason, she was obscenely happy that this rough boy had chosen her, then claimed her for his own. But she still hated him.

Didn't she?

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	21. The Days After: 29

**On a Dark Horse-22**

**Timeline:** Bombs + 29 (morning - evening)

**Warnings:** A little raunchy humour, but nothing worse than prime-time sitcoms.

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine. Never was. Isn't now. Won't be, not even if I manage to hit the lottery. Not writing to infringe upon copyright, etc., but to indulge my own daemons. My only form of compensation is reviews…please?

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Several men were sitting around the table, getting ready to face the day. Jonah walked in, alone. He was not surprised by the knowing smirks that were sent his way. The ventilation system tended to carry noise from one section of the "bunkhouse" to another, even though they were on different halls.

He simply raised his eyebrows and went for the coffee. One of the things they'd been able to trade for with Hayes was coffee, since the town warehoused coffee shipments for the Western region of some famous coffeehouse with a cutesy name. Jonah didn't care about the fancy preparation, so long as it was dark and strong. The standard breakfast was laid out, scrambled eggs, some form of breakfast bread, some form of potatoes, and today, sausage. For the lighter eaters, particularly Skylar and Aylah, there was a bit of fruit and some cereal with fresh sweet-milk from the Richmonds. There was buttermilk for the others, and it had already been checked for radiation by Bonnie. Everything was okay, so far.

He walked over to his usual seat and sat down, his full plate enough to carry him through to dinner, if it had to. Sometimes he didn't have time for anything at midday. Jonah wasn't exactly vain, but he had managed to gain a little weight in the past year. These days since, combined with the irregular eating habits he'd developed, had quickly trimmed him back to his previous size. Some of his jeans were well over ten years old, but they still fit. Those were the dress jeans, mostly, but there were one or two pairs of shop jeans that had managed to hold up.

No one commented on what they'd heard from his room, but the men weren't stupid. It wasn't long until Jake and Mitch walked in, though, having left their respective bedpartners to shower and dress, but they'd only gone at the women's request. Mitch hadn't left until Emily had threatened to move back to Skylar's room permanently, and he'd left with a promise she'd regret the threat. Jake hadn't left Heather until after he'd enjoyed a long shower with her and she had refused to move from under the warm spray.

When the two younger men walked in, seven of the eight men present rose and gave them a loud, long standing ovation. Several catalls ran through the room. Mitch flicked the group off and went straight for the food, which did not in the least surprise Jonah. Jake's lack of initial response, not even a blush, did. When the younger man had gotten a cup of coffee and turned, leaning against the counter, Jonah could see the smug smirk on his face.

"The sound of jealousy," he said to the room, lifting his coffeemug. He was far too relaxed to get irritated over something he'd heard more than once in his life. Granted, the first time, he'd blushed, which had made his buddies razz him that much more, but after that, he'd learned to deal with it.

Of course, that first instance had been in a hangar at Embry-Riddle after a particularly wild aerobatics lesson with a gorgeous professional pilot who'd come in as a guest lecturer. Between her comment on the open-mike during a particularly difficult combination he'd managed in the air without losing control of the plane or changing altitude or attitude when the move was over, specifically "Good hands, Green," and their delayed exit from the plane - for technical reasons, alas - he'd earned his handle, "Good Hands Green", which was much better than the other suggestion "Plane-Rocker". He hadn't run around much after he'd left Jericho, and granted, he'd run around without Emily a few times after he'd come home from flight school, but every time he hadn't been in his own room, he'd managed to get this kind of morning greeting. A few times, it had been accompanied with getting chewed out by his direct superior for "screwing stupid".

Mitch, on the other hand, wasn't shy or easily embarrassed, but he was well aware that Emily's father was in the room. And that Emily would be joining them soon. For his own sake, he hoped the guys weren't stupid enough to repeat their introduction. He knew Emily's temper well, and even though she'd been smiling from his wake up, he'd managed to piss her off almost immediately. Then again, he was used to pissing her off. He'd been doing it for well over ten years.

Jonah was curious how the women would respond to the same kind of welcome Jake and Mitch had just received. Well, Heather and Emily. He did not want to know how Aylah would respond, but he was willing to bet it wouldn't be good. Light footsteps were heard in the hall and eyes were glued to the door, anticipation in the air.

Skylar stepped around the corner, a tired, irritated expression on her face. It wasn't that she minded mornings. It was that she hated mornings that she had things to do and no sleep the night before. She paused as she realized every eye in the room was focused on her.

"Don't look at me," she snapped. "I was in no way responsible for the excessive decibels." With that, she turned and saw Jake next to the coffeepot. When he raised his eyebrows at her, she flashed him a false smile. "I would ask if you slept well," she said sweetly, "but I already know the answer, along with a lot more that I never, ever wanted to. And you're between me and the caffeine, which is not a good place for you to be right now."

Her eyes in no way matched her tone of voice, and Jake managed to keep from laughing at this tiny girl threatening him with implied bodily harm if he didn't move. As amusing as it would be, it wasn't worth it.

"Be nice," Jonah murmured from his seat as she picked up her favourite coffemug, one that had a snarling blue monster on it with the caption 'No It Is Not A Good Morning. Go Away.' She poured her coffee and turned to Jonah.

"I am," she replied, staring her guardian in the eye. "I said nothing about rabbits or other livestock, mating alleycats, the need for gags, or inconsiderate assholes who need to get laid often enough that it's not a broadcast event." She pushed away from the counter and ignored the muffled coughs and outright laughter of the guys. It was going to be a long breakfast. She didn't notice Jake choking on his coffee or the dark look Mitch gave her.

Jonah grinned, enjoying the girl's spirit and outspokenness. She'd probably end up hearing it again, but hopefully not at such volume.

"Invest in earplugs, brat," he said, making the others chuckle. He didn't hear what she was muttering under her breath, but apparently Leon did, since he was turning an interesting shade of red and nearly choking on his laughter.

It was into this scene that Aylah, Heather, and Emily strode, the sway of their hips, the contented-cat expressions, and the looseness of their gait making it clear to everyone that these women were very well-pleased. Not that the issue had been in doubt.

Aylah walked over to Jonah and slid her arms around his neck, something she'd not done in the time the men had known her. They watched as she bent her head to his ear and whispered something, eliciting a chuckle from the boss.

Heather walked over to Jake and tiptoed to give him a long good-morning kiss.

"Good morning to you, too," he said when she pulled away. He didn't know what surprised him more, that she was willing to be so demonstrative in front of men she'd be working with all day, or that she was so unconcerned about their comments. When he looked at her, he saw that she was still floating. The answer was none of the above; she hadn't come down yet. He handed her a coffeemug and the cream Bonnie had dropped off early in the morning.

Bonnie had taken over the dairy, such as it was. She'd done a research project for her senior independent study about pre-Pasteurization dairy practices. That had turned into a county-fair demonstration later that year and had been more useful than anyone could have imagined. With the Geigers to check the raw milk each morning, the town had plenty of butter, cream, and even buttermilk and sweet-milk. It was cool enough that they didn't have to worry about storage yet, but soon they'd have to figure out how to store everything. Meanwhile, Bonnie had become an absolute fanatic for sterilization, since the straining cloths and all of the equipment used in the diary had to be kept absolutely pristine. Even the floor was scrubbed down daily in the workhouse. And everyone appreciated the results of this labour-intensive project. Heather particularly appreciated the cream, since she took her coffee almost white.

Heather filled her cup and wandered dreamily over to the makeshift buffet. Eyebrows raised as they saw the sheer amount of food she piled on her plate. Billy murmured to D'Shea and Leon that she must have had a helluva workout. Heather didn't notice. She sat down carefully at the table near Jonah and dug in.

Emily went for her food first, then to the coffee. When she walked over to Mitch, he waited for her greeting.

"Gonna move over?" she asked, sliding her plate into place beside him.

His eyes slid over her, a knowing look making her warm from anger and lust. He drug it out long enough that her eyes were narrowing and the set of her mouth promised fireworks if he didn't concede the space to her. He did not want to wear her morning coffee, especially when she was vindictive enough to dump it straight in his lap.

"Oh, just sit down already!" Skylar snapped from the other end of the table. "Christ," she muttered, "and I'm considered the child."

Emily sat down, irritated with everything and everyone. And she sat down too quickly, which resulted in a small squeak that couldn't be classified as infuriated. She glared at D'Shea, who was grinning too loudly and the other men who were trying not to laugh. Deciding that she would ultimately lose this battle and that enduring their amusement would go further with gaining their forgiveness for the things she'd said a little over a week ago, she didn't bother to reply, just picked up her fork and started eating.

Jonah watched the interplay between the men and women at the table. Some things, like Skylar's temper, were obvious. Others, like Heather's oblivion and Mitch's apparent calm, he didn't trust at all. Aylah's joke about setting the cats loose around the pound had been entertaining, especially since the men tended to respect the lines for those who were involved with each other. They'd give each other hell, they'd tease the women who wouldn't take it too badly, but they'd keep their hands off. None of them would bother Aylah, since no one was willing to cross her yet. Jonah smiled around the rim of his mug. Her nip at his earlobe had been more than unexpected and rather gratifying.

Conversation began as they ate, most centering around the day's activities. Being a rather salty group, several comments containing double-entendres were tossed around the room, and only Heather looked at them blankly. Jonah wondered if she really was the woman who'd made all of that noise the night before. From Jake's solicitude, he figured she must be. But how could she miss that one?

Finally, the women finished their breakfast and stood up. They took her plate to the sink, having finished breakfast in good time. Heather alone made it a point to say goodbye to her man. She walked up behind Jake and gave him a hug, complete with a kiss on the cheek. Then she half-bounced, half-undulated out of the room behind the swinging gait of Emily and Aylah and the sharp, quick steps of Skylar. Heather paused at the door long enough to call back to Jake, "See you tonight, Good Hands!" and flash him a huge smile.

The dead silence that followed that comment caught Jonah's attention. When he looked down the table at the more vocal of the commentators, Leon shook his head. Jonah looked at Noah for the explanation.

"She's just so darn cute, Boss," Noah explained for the rest of the men.

Jonah sighed. Emily, they could handle. Aylah, they would leave alone. Skylar, they would treat like his adopted daughter, which she was. But Heather? Only that lethal combination of knowledge, skill, and innocent enthusiasm could get his own personal Peanut Gallery to shut the hell up. Why hadn't she shown up years ago, when he really needed the silence?

No one saw the wicked smirk on Heather's face as she strode easily to her part of the garage for the day. Sometimes, it was just too easy.

J*J*J*J*J*J

The men filed out of the room shortly afterward, each going to his assignment for the day. Mitch was scheduled to teach a few people how to handle the larger trucks today, so he had a few more minutes before his duties started. He'd prepped the trucks the night before. Mitch wasn't stupid. He knew that Jonah would have something to say to him. An audience was not required or desired.

"Lotta noise," Jonah said, eyeing the man who'd driven his daughter wild the night before. He'd long ago given up on the idea that his daughter was an innocent. Hell, she'd been using her room, or Jake's room, here since she was sixteen. That didn't make it easy to listen to, especially at an unusually loud volume, but at least the men had been in easy reach and under his thumb.

Mitch was quiet. It wasn't time for him to speak. Jonah would get to the point in his own time.

"You hurt my daughter-" Jonah began.

"And you'll kill me," Mitch finished, confident that he knew where Jonah was going with this. He was surprised when Jonah shook his head and smiled. It was a rather unpleasant smile.

"Oh, no, Mitch. I'll be very careful to make sure you live."

Mitch felt his stomach roll as Jonah rose from his seat and walked out, the soft words hanging in the air over him.

Holy shit, what had he gotten into now?

J*J*J*J*J*J

Later that day, Jonah had the time to check in on the newbies in Emily's group. He watched as she moved carefully, showing the teens how to remove the components of a brake assembly. She wasn't moving with her customary quickness, and it was well into the afternoon. When she set the kids to individual work, monitoring them as she separated out her demonstration piece and put them in carefully labeled bins. The kids would be adding to each bin as they worked.

Emily felt someone behind her, and turned, not knowing if it was Mitch or not. She heard the squeal of tires outside and a muffled crunch, so she had a split second to realize it couldn't be Mitch before she finished the turn and saw Jonah watching her. She was getting warm and the cuffs kept falling over her hands, so she had pushed the sleeves of her shirt back to her forearms. She smiled tentatively at her father.

"They're doing good, Dad," she said, making the effort to bridge the years of spite she'd given him. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Good," he said, his eyes fastened on her wrists. Blue eyes, the same shade as her own, snapped up to her face and stopped at her lips. Her lip gloss had worn off during the day, and the bruise Mitch had raised on her lower lip was showing. So was the bite mark at the join of her shoulder and neck. She leaned back against the table, waiting for some other response. This was not what she'd expected from one of his random inspections of his territory.

"He hurt you?" she heard, the voice that asked quiet with leashed emotion. She stared at her father, not understanding what he was saying.

"What?"

"The bruises, Em. The bite marks. How much more?" Emily was shaking her head, closing her eyes. He had it all wrong. And how did she tell him she'd liked it all?

"I'm fine," she began, her voice soft to defuse his temper.

"I'll fucking kill him," Jonah snarled in response, now certain that Emily had been on the receiving end of real violence. The turned and started for the door to the driving range.

"No," she said, grabbing his arm. "He…" she swallowed, looking her father in the eyes as soon as he turned to glare down at her. She leaned back again, her hand still wrapped around his arm. "He didn't do anything I didn't want," she whispered, the tone of her voice and expression in her eyes telling him that she was not lying. He could always spot a lie from her, even if she didn't know it.

"What?" he said, blinking.

"Turns out I like it rough," she shrugged, a wry smile stretching her lips. "Who'da thought?"

Jonah shook his head. "Ever since you and Jake were sneaking into eachothers rooms out here you've never been hurt." At her startled look, he snorted. "Please. Why do you think you had the bunkbeds and Jake had that ancient wrought-iron thing? If you were going to take the risk, I was damned well going to know about it."

"And you didn't threaten to kill him?" Emily asked, staring at her father in shock.

"Not when you were around to hear it," Jonah admitted. He sighed. At least he wasn't blushing. "Look, Em, what you do is your business, but if anyone hurts you…" His voice trailed off and his jaw tightened as he remembered a young girl who looked so much like the woman in front of him had at fourteen.

"I know, Dad. I won't let him." She relaxed, letting go of his arm. "I've avoided admitting it for years, but I'm too much your child to just roll over. And Mitch won't roll over either." She took a deep breath, "And I haven't forgotten about Roger, and I still love him, but…he's not what I need. Want, well, seems I do want Mitch, but I need to have someone who will fight with me." She broke off then, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm more screwed up than I thought." She stared down at the ground, wondering if she was terminally mental.

Jonah shook his head, pulling her into a hug. "Nah. Just hurt and starting to recover. Life's a bitch, Em. You know that."

"Yeah," Emily said, with a shaky, almost tearful laugh. "And she bites."

"Yeah," Jonah agreed. He hadn't been a good father; he knew that. Never had enough time with his kids to be a real father to them. Jake had said that years ago and repeated it recently during an argument they'd had, but he'd ignored it. He felt it now, and every year that he'd been missing from their lives. Chris would never get the chance to see him like this, but maybe he could manage some sort of decent relationship with Em. As her friend, maybe, more than her father, even though he'd never lose the protectiveness he'd felt from the day she'd been placed in his arms.

He let her go and stepped back. She smiled at him, a watery little smile, so apparently he'd done the right thing. He didn't want to think about it, but maybe Aylah was right. Maybe he did need to work harder at letting Emily know what he thought and felt about her. Something in him dreaded those conversations, so he put off thinking about them a bit longer.

"Looks like one of the kids needs you," he said, noticing a boy standing up and holding a crescent wrench awkwardly. It was time for him to go. He had another meeting with Johnston today, anyway.

Emily glanced over at the boy and pushed away from the table. "See you tonight, then, Dad," she said, turning to walk to the boy.

She didn't hear him whisper "See you tonight, Emmykins" before he turned away.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"It's settled then," Johnston said, taking control of the meeting again. "Jonah will start gathering supplies for the trip to Rogue River as soon as he gets back to his office."

"It'll take about three days to get supplies ready, let everyone who's on the list get chores done and prepare for a long trip. We may even be shuttling things back and forth several times, so the working security group will be needed, too." He paused. "We have no idea what we'll find, so we want everyone to have at least one weapon on them. We leave in four days, in the early morning."

"Define early," Serena Givens asked, noting the date on her pad.

"Three a.m." Eyebrows around the table shot up. "We'll reach the town in an hour and a half, so we'll have early morning light to start our search. All day, coming back only when we're loaded down."

Heather had attended this council meeting to give an update on the powergrid, which seemed to have become her pet project for the foreseeable future. She jumped in on this part, too, in her predictably forthright way.

"You need to take me, Aylah, and Emily with you. Maybe some of the younger kids - those who have really good imaginations."

Objections immediately filled the room, Johnston and Jonah looking at Heather for a long time before speaking.

"What? Risk the children?" one woman asked, upset at the idea. "We have no idea what's going on out there-"

"But we do know that Rogue River is emptying out. We know the highways and back roads within fifty miles of town are clear, and we'll be taking a large convoy. Jake and Mrs. McVeigh will be flying cover, in constant communication about what's around us. And the kids will see things we miss - the little things that only kids can come up with." It was the last that got Miss Maddie's attention.

"Well, now there is some truth to that," she said, leaning back and considering the girl who had become so much a part of Jericho in the past few weeks. "Several things we use around town now are the result of a child asking a question, or coming up with another use for something we overlooked as unimportant. The system we use for keeping the greenhouses closed, for example." No one there had thought of a simple gravity latch made of a dowel connected to a simple wooden block that dropped into an office-sized keydrop would be an easy way of keeping the doors of the greenhouse secure.

"Only a few kids - maybe three or four, of different ages. And only those whose parents are going with us."

"You keep saying 'us'. There's no guarantee you're going," Jonah said, interrupting the rhythm she was establishing.

Heather shook her head. "I'm more useful out there, looking around the Rogue than I am here, putting together another thing that Alex or Harry can fix just as well. And with Aylah and Emily along, we can keep things going faster. Aylah lived in the Rogue, and Emily was up there a lot with Roger. They know the town. And if we can get a few others who know the area, we can cover more ground safely and come back with more information and who knows?"

The subject of the raid, since that what it really was, had been a touchy one. No one wanted to say that they were flat-out taking from Rogue River, but the supplies could be the difference between life and death. References to the actions Jonah's group would be taking had been vague, but everyone knew what was going to happen.

Jonah stopped the discussion by making his final decision. "Everyone who's on my list now is going. Additions will be discussed with me individually, but everyone who goes will have to have knowledge of firearms and driving skills. There is no compromise on those two points."

Heads nodded around the table. Jonah stood and said, "I've got to head back and start assigning duties to my employees. They know what I've been looking at, but I need to tell them tonight so they can start getting everything set for our departure."

When he left, Johnston turned to the group.

"I know we've been batting around some names for sheriff, and the last time he was mentioned, there were some problems with the idea, but when the expedition returns from Rogue River, I think that'll tell us everything we need to know to make the nominations final."

Heads around the table nodded. They didn't have a sheriff, but so far it wasn't hurting them, really. They could wait another week to start the nominations process.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Heather followed him out, and caught up with him at his car.

"Jake know you're volunteering to get your ass shot off?" Jonah said by way of acknowledging her presence.

"Aylah know you're trying to keep her away from her home?" she returned, not in the least intimidated.

"Not the point or your problem."

"Like hell it's not," Heather didn't back down. "She's a part of this, and a part of your group, even more than I am. Yeah, I'm with Jake and I'm a mechanic-teacher, but I'm still not a one of your merry men."

"If you were, you wouldn't be sleeping with Jake," Jonah said, snorting at the description. The comparison was more accurate than he wanted to admit, even to himself. "Which is the reason you're not going."

"Which is the reason that I am." Heather blew out a breath and started to explain. "I'm not useless, Jonah. I can fight, shoot, cause multiple forms of non-lethal injuries, keep quiet, sneak in and out of places without getting caught, pick locks, and so many more things. I lived up in the hills with my grandmother for a while. I learned more about survival and practicality than I've been able to use so far. And don't try to bullshit me about 'women's work' and all that crap. I know better."

"Not part of my make-up, Heather, but I can't speak for Jake." Jonah paused. "I know better than to try that line. You convince Jake you can take care of yourself, I'm more than happy to have you." He took a breath, then added, "And you don't want to be a part of my crew, either, Heather. We're none of us nice guys."

Heather looked over at him, the quiet of the car was filled with the road noise and the sound of the engine singing.

"What makes you think I'm such a good girl?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Jonah looked at her for a second, caught her eye. There were shadows there, something he hadn't expected. They didn't speak for the rest of the ride back to the office and went their separate ways upon arrival.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	22. The Days After: 29 Night, 32 Morning

On a Dark Horse-23

Timeline: Bombs + 29 (night), 32 (morning)

Disclaimer: Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Jake looked down at Heather, furious that she would even bring up going to Rogue River with them.

"No," he said, completely irrational about the whole thing. "Not at all. No way. You're staying here, safe."

Heather was getting angry, something that rarely happened to her. She would get indignant, upset, and irritated, but she rarely ever got angry.

"You listen to me, Jake," she said, stepping up to him and poking him in the solar plexus with her finger. He whoofed and coughed, but she didn't stop speaking. "I am going to Rogue River. I am helping to find everything we will need, and you are going to sit down, shut up, and like it."

Jake stared at her, surprised at her reaction and the repeated jabs she'd given him. "What the? No!" He rubbed the sore spot in the middle of his torso. Heather had pointy little fingers.

"The discussion is over, Jake," she said, her voice going flat. "I am not going to stand behind you and let you take all the risks. I'm not going to go running off and jump into something half-looking, either, but I will stand next to you. I will fight with you. And beside you." She gave him an uncompromising stare. "And if you can't take that, then we need to end this now."

Jake was speechless. "Heather?" This was another side of her - and as shocked as he was, he was even more fascinated by her. Was he addicted?

"No, Jake. There is no talking about it. Can you handle this - me - or not?" She wasn't giving ground.

He stared at her for a long moment. He finally said the only thing he could.

"Okay." His voice was filled with a combination of resignation and surprise. "You still amaze me, Heather." He reached out and tugged her to him, holding her loosely. He was beginning to realize that was the only way he would manage to keep her.

She just smiled at him, her eyes suddenly twinkling with mischief, her arms around his hips. "Good."

J*J*J*J*J*J

"I'm going to Rogue River," Emily said, standing across the room from Mitch. She knew she'd end up back in his bed, in his arms tonight, but she didn't have to get there now.

Mitch tossed the manual he'd been reviewing onto the desk in his room and looked up at her.

"Which truck do you want to drive?" he asked, figuring Emily would be with safer with him than following along after the convoy in her 'Vette.

She gave him a long look and smiled. One big difference between Mitch and the other two men who'd been her lovers - Mitch took her as she was. He'd only try protect her or do for her when she needed - asked for - his help. It felt good enough to be given full credit for her abilities that she walked over and kissed him. The surprise on his face was worth it.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Aylah didn't have to say a word. Jonah didn't even look up from his desk. He knew those footsteps well.

"Three a.m., four days from now," he said, making another note on his list.

She turned and headed for her desk in the garage area to start planning out what she had to complete in the next three days and what could wait.

Skylar walked into the office as Aylah walked out. Jonah sat behind his desk, glasses on. He hated that he had to wear glasses to read, but it was better than the other way around. They were for minor magnification, anyway. The work he did on engines and around the office in his original business didn't require them. It was just for the paperwork that had multiplied with his new deal in town that he'd finally given in and worn the damned things. He didn't have time to do it the old way, which had involved standing at his desk and looking down at the slips and receipts.

"I'm going with you," Skylar said softly. "And Dale Turner will want to go, too."

Jonah looked over his glasses at her. "Okay, Dale's in. Explain why you should get to join us. We're not shopping, sweetheart," he added.

"Yeah, you are," she replied, "you're just not going to pay for any of it." Jonah sat back in his chair and waited. The girl wasn't stupid. Only took a few minutes to listen. He motioned for her to continue.

"Look, I'm good at chem. I've been working with Dr. Hallowell and Dr. Jenner," at Jonah's lack of recognizition, she clarified, "the local chemistry professor, during the mornings, and with Laureanna St. Xavier at the mine, looking over the salts she can use in her medicines. We've put together several things for easy-use meds and a simple radiation test that can be done in seconds, especially for liquids and foodstuffs, if we find any. The Geiger counters will work for the rest of the things, and I've learned how to treat minor to gaping wounds for radiation and infection. I know that no one expects for there to be injuries, but with the number of people going, I'd be surprised if there weren't any. Besides, Aylah and Heather suck at chemistry, and the majority of the people around here only know recreational and explosive forms. I can help, Jonah."

Valid points all. They had two medics joining them, but no one had considered the possibility of heavier fallout than Jericho had received. It had been easy to take care of the things that had reacted on the Geiger after the rain, and that had been surprisingly little around town. Rogue River was closer to Denver. The decision was easier than he'd thought.

"Go out with Emily tomorrow when she heads for security training. Marcus Clarind will check you out on firearms. If you don't pass his evaluation, you're not going, no matter how useful you could be."

"How many tries do I get?"

"Two days, no more. After that, if you don't make it in, you get to impart your vast knowledge to D'Shea and the medics. If you do, then you'll be riding with them on the trip out and talking over some basics as we ride. Dale will also need to be checked out on the range."

"He's already been admitted into the security force," she said. "He reports to Alex Jenkins." She gave a little huff and dropped her eyes. "Maybe I should join, too. At least then I'll have more options if things go horribly wrong."

"If you need permission, you have it. Tell them to send me the paperwork." Jonah's acceptance of her comment made her realize even more than the alcohol that he was deadly serious about letting her make her own decisions. "Just remember that once you join, you may end up in a firefight, which means you may have to deal with taking another life. Can you handle that?"

Skylar hesitated. "Can I get back to you on that? After the trip?"

Jonah nodded. She was smarter than he'd been at her age, or even two years older, when he'd signed on for a hitch in the Marines. "Best time." He looked her over, noting her small frame and delicate build. She was not made for a fight. "You ever learn how to defend yourself?" he asked suddenly, surprising her.

"Like, from what?" she asked, thrown by his question.

"A direct attack," he replied, sitting up straight and watching her face. She ran through several expressions quickly.

"I'm not a part of the security force - and when is that going to get a name?" she said, adding the last because she was tired of saying 'the security force' like she was in 1930s Russia.

He stood and walked around his desk. Without warning, he grabbed her, turning her around and pinning her arm behind her, his other arm wrapped around her neck.

"This kind," he said, holding her easily. She only struggled for a second, then gave up.

"Ow!" she cried as he pulled her arm higher behind her.

"And that would be a no," he said, releasing her. "When you get back, you're adding self-defense to your lessons. Every other girl from twelve to twenty, too. I don't care whose arm I have to twist to get that added to the roster in the mornings, but it will happen." Skylar turned and stared at him, not knowing how to react. "Go on," he said, motioning to the door. "And don't forget your range qualifications with Marcus tomorrow morning."

A mildly stunned teenager walked back to the kitchen to help with dinner.

She'd gotten qualified permission to join them on the trip to Rogue River, but it would seem that her days would get even longer now. She looked down at the jeans she was wearing. Looked like those warmer skirts were going to have to wait, after all.

J*J*J*J*J*J

The next three days flew by. Skylar managed to complete her range qualifications in the first day, but she was amazed at what MSgt. Clarind had demanded she do. She had to fire in the standard position she'd learned from her father with both rifle and pistol. That wasn't too bad. She still didn't care for the noise, but she'd done fine. Then he'd had her fire from a turn, raising the pistol and rifle as she turned. Then from a crouched, then prone position. Then he'd taken her to the "cover" section of the range, and she'd had to fire from behind various objects. Finally, he'd taken her to the shooting house, a simple structure that had been slapped together from old boards from a barn. They'd put sod walls up, too, to keep the bullets from travelling. She'd had to enter the room, fire and keep moving, all the while hitting the called targets. When Marcus finished his evaluation, she was hot and sweaty, her hands were numb, and she couldn't hear very well, despite the simple ear-protectors she'd been given. She had a bruise on her shoulder from the kick of the rifle, but she was proud of herself. Machines may cringe as she approached with tools, but nobody could fault her hand-eye coordination. Her score hadn't been much lower than some of the more experienced men, including several who'd been in the military.

"You signing on, Stevens?" MSgt. Clarind asked her, looking over the results. He wasn't easily impressed, but this little girl had damned good aim. Not bad on general coordination, either. Scrawny, though.

"I'll have the answer when we get back from the Rogue," she replied, looking up at him. She felt tiny next to him, but then again, most people in town felt tiny next to Marcus Clarind. Except his brothers. "After the trip, I'll know a little more about what's involved, so I'll be able to make up my mind then."

Marcus nodded, accepting that. "Well, we could use you. Now, clear and clean those weapons." He strode off, leaving her under the supervision of an older man who ran the section about the care and feeding of firearms.

She looked at the .9 mil and the Winchester and sighed. Her hands were already aching, and now she had to work the slide off the pistol, and the levers were stiff. They had to be. She reached for the rifle, deciding to start with something that didn't depend on her fingertips so much. At least she'd learned how not to screw up these simple machines.

J*****=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+*****J

{bombs + 32}

Jonah looked at his crew in the early dark. Eighty-five people were going with him, most with combat experience. Skylar had received an unusually favourable report from Marcus and Miller. She was going, riding with D'Shea and the two medics. Emily had Mitch with her, and he figured they'd make it to their destination without shooting each other. Jake was flying, planning to escort them and land in town, which would ordinarily be a problem, but the small plane he had could set down on one of the wider streets. Mrs. McVeigh would keep cover over the Rogue after they had arrived.

Heather was driving the truck he was in, at Jake's quiet request. He had no intentions of telling Heather that, but instead, when she gave him a suspicious look, told her that he thought he'd take advantage of her blush reflexes. She'd shaken her head and gave a little laugh, but hadn't said anything. As they'd been driving, though, he caught a few glances she'd shot his way. Perhaps he was being more suggestive than he needed to be, but Jake had had it far too easy so far.

Aylah was in the lead car, driving, with Marcus riding shotgun. The rest of the crew spread out behind them, a line reaching longer than he'd expected. Between speed and the time of day, he wasn't anticipating any problems.

Thieves were lazy, especially the ones that were on the highways these days.

Pity they hadn't been trained with Jonah's work ethic.

J*J*J*J*J*J

When they arrived, Aylah and one truck stopped at a small house with a large garage situated on the edge of town. She was getting her gear, the things she'd needed or wanted since she'd left home. Jonah had agreed to give her three hours to get packed up. She'd given him a quick run-down of the best areas to go, what to look for. Jonah had nodded and the rest of the group rolled on.

It hadn't taken long for the five at Aylah's to pack her clothes, tools, and the few things she wanted with her. It had taken considerably longer to pack her weapons collection. Marcus had given her a dry look when he'd found a few of the more illegal firearms she'd acquired. She hadn't bothered with a response. The master sergeant had simply shaken his head and slipped the weapons into their carrying cases. More than one man choked when they saw the ammunition locker in the cellar.

The house had been Spartan in décor, with few things except CDs, records, tapes and books that she insisted go with her. The two or three things Jonah had given her over the years went with her. She had no jewelry, not even a class ring. She owned a total of two suits with three silk shirts, but the majority of her clothing was durable, so it was used to pack loose items and keep them safe. She did not own a dress or skirt or heels. In less than three hours, they met Jonah two blocks from Main Avenue, the truck she'd been assigned less than half full.

The group had fanned out, the security group taking the high ground under Marcus' direction. This group, like the one that had ridden with Jonah earlier, was comprised of veterans. At least the terrain was easier.

Skylar reached down and picked up a piece of paper. There was a circle with three wide triangles in black moving from the center and widening to the edges. She read it over and took it to Jonah.

"The watertable has been contaminated and Rogue River has been placed under mandatory evacuation. The citizens will relocate to a FEMA camp north of town, located in the Wal-Mart parking lot." It was a summary. He couldn't stop the chill that ran down his spine at the well-known radiation symbol. He knew that this was life now, but just that simple warning and the huge yellow-and-black symbol made his entire life seem surreal. He knew she was waiting for something.

"Check it out," he told her, handing her the flyer. He looked around and saw the FEMA markings on the doors. She'd taken the flyer and motioned to D'Shea to follow her into one of the buildings. She was carrying the testing-kit she'd helped put together. It was a small hairdressing shop, with plenty of shampoos and other chemicals they could use. She ignored those things and went straight to a watertap.

Jonah saw Jake's plane several yards away from the first vehicles. He'd gotten out and gone up to take a watch on the tallest building on the street, a lawyer's office. Jonah turned and motioned Jake down, then ordered a sweep of the street. Jake jogged over to him and heard what the notices said. He shook his head.

"There's no camp in the Wal-Mart parking lot or twenty miles out of town. Nothing. There was a lot of trash out there, and some huge pits were dug and filled in-" Jake stopped suddenly, realizing what those pits had to be.

"Mass graves." Jonah felt sick. "Radiation, you think?"

"It's a cruel thought, but the other option is mass murder," Jake said, memories crowding up. "God, I hope it was radiation." He didn't want to believe that the other option was possible in America.

"Me, too," Jonah said, his voice a whisper. "Wait here. Skylar should be coming back with a radiation report soon." The men waited, watching the work and search along the street. The question of causes of death was one that Jonah would have to consider carefully. If it was radiation, that was bad enough. If it wasn't, there would be much bigger problems heading their way in the not-so-distant future. What was Kansas coming to?

"Those marks," Jake finally said, breaking the depressing silence. "FEMA was here, about a week ago. That's the date, October 25. The zero is for the number of living," he pointed to the right side of the X. "The other zero" he pointed to the bottom of the X "is number of dead, which means this building was empty." FEMA was printed on the left side of the X, the date 10-25 on the top. Jonah appreciated the simplicity of the code and the amount of information it conveyed. He did not relish the idea of the bottom number showing any positive values. Week-old corpses were invariably ripe, no matter how cold it was outside.

Within fifteen minutes, some of the guys on loading up some of the most useful items and cleaning out the stores. They worked quickly and quietly, using hand motions instead of shouts to communicate. The ghost town was affecting them all. He saw Skylar running back his way, no more than twenty minutes after she'd headed into the first building.

"It's true," she said, getting close. "This section of town was hit hard with radiation." She held up six small jars with sediment at the bottom. "See the sediment? It's the radioactive material that bonded to the chemicals I used. The precipitate is way too high for the sample, and if this much came out of it, then there's even more that didn't react. It'll take close to a century for this water to be useable again, but I want to spot-check some other areas. The town may use more than one watertable, since it's larger than, um, home." She'd been warned not to use any names that could identify them to anyone left in the city. "Tell everyone to stay away from the water. Drink only the bottled water we have and _don't_ eat anything here. Any food will need to be quarantined and checked for moulds, spoilage, and radiation. Even the bagged and processed stuff, if any is left."

From the look of the one or two grocery stores they'd passed, no one thought rations would be available. Jonah thought about the many houses they'd passed, too. That was another option, individual houses for supplies. It was cold, ruthless, but necessary. Even if they couldn't use it or didn't have immediate need for it, they could certainly use it for trade.

Jonah closed his eyes. There but for the grace of God went Jericho.

"Tell Noah to get the news out to the rest. Tell the medics, then go to the hospital with Jake and Eric." The older, steadier Green boy had joined the expedition as part of the security force. The damned group really did need a name. "Take a truck and park in the back. Get Tobias and Billy to cover you from the taller buildings. They'll get back to us if anyone comes in."

"You think someone's coming here?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting in a frown. "That doesn't make sense."

"To collect supplies?" He motioned to the men carrying things out of the stores and into the trucks. Skylar conceded the point.

She gathered the men to go with her and headed to the medical center.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	23. The Days After: 32

**On a Dark Horse-24**

**Timeline:** Bombs + 32

**Warnings: **None.

**Disclaimer: **Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

**A/N:** Tried to keep dialogue close to original, but had to change a few things for reasons that will become obvious. Guessed on what foreign curse Kenchy used the first time we saw him.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Skylar, Jake, and Eric slipped into the back of Rogue River Hospital, careful to make no noise. It was still early morning, and the sun was just getting high enough to penetrate the windows of the building. They walked quickly and quietly through the deserted halls, then stopped suddenly when Eric slipped at a corridor entry.

He started to lever himself up and whispered, "Oh, my God."

Jake and Skylar turned to look down the hall, and Skylar clapped her hand over her mouth. She muffled a small scream in her hand and started to breathe heavily. Now that she saw them, she could smell them. And it was absolutely nauseating. She ran to the nurse's station they'd passed and threw up. Tears started forming in her eyes and she worked hard to keep from having an hysterical fit. She'd seen death, even gore, but never anything like that.

Eric stared as his little brother walked over and picked up a shell casing.

"What is it?" Eric wondered.

"Automatic weapons."

"Rogue River doesn't have a SWAT team," Eric said, feeling stupid from the shock. He'd have to learn to live with it, though. He had to get through this.

Jake moved over to a downed policeman, and said over his shoulder, "Not cops." He saw a familiar red and black badge on a bullet-proof vest. "Mercenaries."

"What?" Eric asked, not understanding.

"A group called Ravenwood. Some of the worst." Jake fought down the memories again and slowly stood. "Get Skylar. She doesn't leave our sight."

Eric moved back and found her shivering and trying to get control over herself.

"Skylar? We need to keep moving." Eric walked up to her and looked her over. "Do you need to leave?"

She heard the question and managed to shake her head. "No. I just…needed a minute." She was still shaking, but she lifted her chin and gritted her teeth. "Where to?" she asked, obviously scared and obviously determined to keep going. If this was going to be a part of her life now, then so be it. If she backed down now, she had no place here, going and doing. But nobody said she had to enjoy it.

Eric just nodded and felt his previous opinion of the girl go up a notch. She'd been another spoiled kid only weeks ago, but now she was showing some real strength. He walked with her down the corridor filled with corpses and to the stairwell. They started up, Skylar sandwiched between the two men, Jake in the lead.

"Don't come up any farther!" a voice called down from the top. "I'll shoot!"

Jake stopped, called back up, "We're not here to hurt you. We're here for medical supplies." A metal canister bounced down the stairs. "Back, back!" Jake called, pushing the other two down as many steps as he could and telling the to cover their ears, close their eyes.

After the smoke had cleared, their ears were still ringing. Thankfully, they hadn't been facing the bright light.

"Flash-bang," Jake explained in response to his brother's question. "Not a grenade. If it had been a grenade, we'd be dead now." He called up the stairs. "We're putting our weapons down. Don't shoot." And started back up.

Skylar and Eric, both still dazed and more than a little nervous, followed Jake up the stairs. As they rounded the corner into the hall, a little red dot appeared on Jake's chest. Skylar squeaked, but managed not to shriek as they saw a man in black holding them at gunpoint. Then she saw the bandage. Before anyone else could speak, she cried out, "Oh, my gosh! You're hurt!"

The man's eyes snapped to her and he lowered his weapon. "What? A kid?" He shook his head, like he was trying to clear his thoughts. "No. Can't be," he raised the weapon again.

"We're just here for supplies. Unarmed," Jake used his fingers to open his jacket, revealing that the back-up gun wasn't in sight from the front. He had a .38 in a holster at the small of his back. "Please, just lower the weapon." When that didn't work, he tried another tack. "Ravenwood, right?"

That got the man's attention. "Yeah."

"Iraq?"

"Yeah. I thought it was the worst thing I'd ever lived through, until this."

"Where were you?"

"Fallujah."

"Man, I thought I had it bad." At the man's cautious lowering of his weapon, he continued. "Drove a truck on one of the main supply routes. Spent fourteen months in Afghanistan and six in Iraq."

"Private contractor?"

"Yeah, different company. Got to know a few Ravenwood guys." He breathed pure relief with the weapon lowered.

"Name?"

"Jake Green. This is Skylar Stevens, my brother Eric."

"Randy Peyton," the man said, slinging his weapon back onto his shoulder. "Welcome to hell on Earth."

They walked into a clear area, and Jake thought it was a good idea to ask a few questions.

"What happened down there?" he asked, carefully phrasing the question to avoid assigning blame.

"We got a contract to evacuate the town. Docs wouldn't move the sickest, oldest, weakest. First there was yelling, then one of our guys opened fire. It went real bad from there, guys emptying their weapons…"

"You didn't try to stop them?" Eric asked, nowhere near as good with this line of questioning as Jake.

"How do you think I got shot?" Randy snapped back, irritated at the man's attitude.

"When's the last time you ate?" Skylar asked, turning to something other than the massacre downstairs. She couldn't handle it if they kept on talking about it.

"Dunno. Caffeine and morphine are all that's keeping me standing." He stopped and leaned against the wall for a minute. He motioned to a man in blue, standing at a table. "My guys left me for dead with the others. Came to with the doc working on me."

"Sahlaa!" the man in blue screamed. "I need more bloody LIGHT!" He threw down his instruments and stalked away from the table.

"You need to eat something," Skylar told Peyton. "And so does he. Eric, could you take this over to the…doctor?" she asked, handing Eric a wrapped sandwich and a bottle of water. "Don't let him use the taps until I test the water."

"Hospitals have good filtration systems-" Jake began.

"Not that good," Skylar interrupted. "And here, Mr. Peyton," she said, handing him another sandwich and a bottle of water. "It's all I have with me, except some testing and medical supplies. You need to change that bandage." She looked at the man who was wolfing down the food, closing his eyes in ecstasy. "Or I can do it, if you want. Check for any infection." When Randy nodded, she motioned to a chair. "Here."

He sat down and she knelt to take care of the bandage. Jake kept the two in sight as Eric walked over to the doctor. Murmurs from the conversation were audible, but the exact words were lost. The doctor accepted the sandwich and water, though, and began eating.

"Look, Randy, we've got a group out here, getting supplies. If your guys left you behind, you and the doc can come back with us. We could use a surgeon, as well as someone who knows their way around weapons and tactics." He was careful not to mention a killer, because he had the sneaking suspicion that Peyton, initially at least, had participated in the massacre below.

Randy took a long drink of water, the sandwich now a pleasant memory. "They'll come back. If they find you, they'll kill you."

Jake flashed him a grin. "How many?"

"Maybe twenty," came the answer.

"Not a problem. When do you think they'll come?"

"Later. They'll be cleaning out supplies for the camp."

"Randy," Jake said, his voice soft. "There is no camp on the edge of town. There are some big, filled in pits, but no camp."

Randy gave him a long look and closed his eyes. "Oh, fuck," he breathed, his already tilted world sliding and crashing. "They couldn't have - too much ammo."

Skylar finished the dressing and looked up at him. "If they were using the water at all, too many people would've been sick. Very sick. As in dying-with-no-hope sick." She looked down. "And they couldn't stay here, not on this watertable. They'd have to go north, or east, just to find a clear place to set up a camp." She didn't want to think about the alternative. Couldn't make herself think about it. Giving herself the chore of cleaning the man's leg again and feeding him was helping her more than talking about mass graves and FEMA camps.

"Good point," Jake said, accepting the possibility. He'd seen firsthand the results of radiation poisoning on Victor Miller and the group he'd led out from Denver. "Hey, I've got to get word back to our group that the hospital still has supplies. Please don't shoot us," Jake said, giving Randy a macabre grin.

"Not worried about your guys, if you're all like this," Randy said, the food and water helping him absorb the information about the FEMA-camp-that-wasn't. "Look, I…I'd like to go back with you, if I could. If you think they'll let me."

Skylar looked at Randy and said softly, "I don't think that'll be a problem, but…" she looked at the M16 beside him. "I don't think you should be armed when you go out to meet everyone. It's not you," she added quickly. "It's just, safer that way. For everyone. The boss isn't exactly Mr. Rogers, y'know?"

Randy took a long minute, then looked at her. "Okay. But you carry." He looked up at Jake. "Nothing personal, man."

"I hear ya," Jake said, surprised that the man would agree. Maybe it helped that Skylar looked like a waif and was obviously young. That she'd fed him and treated his leg hadn't hurt. "Eric," he called, turning just enough to see his brother and the doctor. "Need you to get a message back to the others. Tell them to come here, and we've got a couple friends, too."

"I'm going with you," the doctor said. "I…I can't stay in here anymore. It's…I…just can't." It was clear to everyone that the doctor had reached and surpassed his breaking point.

"No problem." Eric gathered the doctor and headed down the stairs. Jonah would definitely find this interesting. Question was, what was Jake going to do with Skylar and the merc?

"We need to get you down to the ground floor, man," Jake said, pushing against the wall. "You can talk to the boss, let him know what's expected. What's happened." Skylar caught the look Jake gave her as Randy safed his weapons and handed them to her. He wanted her to play stupid. She could handle that.

She slid the sling of the M16 over her shoulder and, when the weight proved to be awkward, pulled it to her other shoulder, crossing her torso. The muzzle was pointing up, the "peaceful" way of carrying. Then Randy produced two backup weapons, several clips, and a knife. She dropped those into her bag, playing the gun-shy girly-girl role. Then she lifted her pack and pulled it over the shoulder that wasn't carrying the weight of the M16.

Jake helped Randy up, and they slowly limped down the stairs, Skylar staying close.

Randy felt the lump at the small of Randy's back. "Unarmed?" he asked, giving the taller man a glare.

"For all practical purposes. No time to go for it. Later, no reason." Jake shot a sideways glance at Randy. "You gonna give me a reason?"

Randy was quiet, then said, "Nah. Guess not."

They passed the rifle Jake had left in the stairwell, Eric had picked his up on the way out with the doctor, and Randy didn't see Skylar check it and lift it, holding it comfortably.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah looked up as Eric gave a sharp, shrill whistle for attention. He jogged over and met the two men as they came close to the working groups.

"Two alive in the hospital. Kenchy Dhuwalia here is a doctor. The other is a Randy something. A guy from a group called Ravenwood. Mercenary, Jake said. Seemed to know about them. He and Skylar are still there. Waiting for you and a group to come in and clean out the meds."

It was quick, concise, and completely pissed Jonah off. Four hours. No more than four hours and Jake was already putting himself and Jonah's ward in danger. Jonah called for three men, then Marcus. "Med center. Now."

The men stopped the work they were doing, handing it over to the remaining groups, and closed down to move to the medical center.

Aylah was looking over the bookstores, completely intact since most people didn't think about the information between the covers. She had two vans getting loaded down completely, and there was still more to be pulled. The fiction could wait - she was going for non-fiction references and periodicals. That thought reminded her of the library, which would require a lot more time to move.

Heather had pulled Emily to the side and mentioned the schools, which were then listed for all sorts of supplies - everything from crayons to chemicals to cleaning products. Heather turned when one of the kids, a twelve-year-old who had been going through an antique shop, came out with a brass and wood thing that looked a lot like an oversized stapler.

"What's this, Miss Heather?" he asked, showing the object to her. It took her a minute, but when she recognized it, her eyes widened and she smiled.

"It's a telegraph," she said, grinning at the boy. Then she pulled him in for a hug. "Good job! We can use this to communicate between towns! Are there anymore?"

"Yeah, and lots of other old things that I've seen people putting back together round town. Cast iron and wood, mostly, but some other things like that record player with the huge horn? What's that called?"

"A Victrola," Emily said, eyes glowing. "Y'know, I think the antique store is going to be emptied today. In fact, I'll get Mitch on it with me right now." She turned to the boy and told him, "Go show the other kids, see if you can find any more stuff like this." He gave them a huge grin and ran off, leaving Emily smiling.

"You'll get Mitch on it with you?" Heather said dryly. "Just make sure he's not on you." With that she turned and walked over to the next antique store, ignoring the indignant "Hey!" behind her.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah and Marcus got out of the cab, Marcus covering Jonah. Jake, the mercenary, and an unsually well-armed Skylar were standing just under the emergency vehicle awning, out of sight of the main road.

"What the hell is going on here," Jonah barked, pinning Jake down with a stare. It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

"Information and someone who can help out," Jake replied, stepping forward a bit. "Come on over. Randy'll answer questions while everyone else empties out the medical supplies." He moved closer to Jonah and muttered, "Bloodbath in there, Boss. Tell 'em."

Jonah nodded and turned to the men. The security force he sent up to the top floor and the rooftops. Then he turned and walked over to Randy with Marcus. In thirty minutes, he had the whole story and a grim picture of what to expect when, not if, Ravenwood returned. Jonah was not happy, but it was better than being surprised.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Seven hours later, Jonah's crew had loaded everything they could, but a one-word warning from Mrs. McVeigh's hourly pass came down. "Incoming."

From the information Randy had given them, Jonah was certain it could only be Ravenwood. He motioned for everyone to get ready, knowing they'd go to the medical center first. It had brought back memories, but he finally decided to set up an ambush. Aylah, Heather, and Emily were the bait. It had taken an argument, but finally even Jake had agreed that those three would be unintimidating to people who didn't know them. Putting them by the med center with an old car would be the perfect setup. It only took them a minute to get in place.

Marcus, who'd never been very specific about his exact assignment in the Marines, was on top of the tallest building across the street. Jonah knew not to ask, but took him at his word that there would be no difficulty for him in the coming action.

Skylar had not even mentioned getting close to the action, but had instead elected to stay with the trucks, well-guarded by the majority of the group. She was holding a rifle, too, but hoping that she wouldn't have any reason to use it.

Randy was beside her, unarmed, but he didn't notice. He'd gotten more food from the others and was finally resting.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Two black humvees and a small, black moving van pulled to a halt in front of the medical center. The men boiled out of the vehicles and started toward the hospital, only to be stopped by three women, two bending over a third. Aylah had been put on the ground, knowing how to fake non-specific injuries much, much better than the other two.

A slow smile crept over the goateed face of the man in the lead. "Well, well," he purred. "What have we here?"

The men behind him relaxed and several even put their weapons aside, obviously anticipating the "company" of the women. Heather looked over at the men and did one of her best innocent-relief expressions.

"Oh! Thank God!" she exclaimed. "Eva, we've got people to help us!"

"What?" Emily looked up, faking relief. "Can you help us? Our friend. She just collapsed. We don't know what's wrong with her-"

"Let's get her inside and take a look," he said. "Name's Goetz," he added, giving them an easy smile. "We were here to collect supplies for the government, but we can take a while to help you out." It was apparent to the men lying in wait that Goetz was not thinking with the proper head when he added, "Don't see pretty women out much anymore. How'd you get here?"

"We drove. From…another town," it was the first hesitation Heather showed them, and it made her more believable. "Amy just collapsed. We saw the hospital sign on the road, but we couldn't get her inside."

"Not a problem," Goetz said, motioning for another man to help him. "We'll help you in, and Timms here," he nodded to the other man, "can look her over." Just let me tell my men what's going on," he said, turning to walk back to them. They stayed in conference for a while, then Goetz and the one he called Timms were walking back over to them.

"They'll stay out here and get the truck ready for the medical supplies," Goetz said, smiling at the women. "Here," he said, bending down next to Aylah to help her get to a sitting position. "Let us." Goetz and Timms lifted Aylah, who moaned theatrically. They carried her into the emergency center and laid her out on the table. Neither man had brought their weapons in, but then again, they hadn't expected to need them.

"Okay, Timms," Goetz said, stepping away from the table. "Ladies, we'll let-" he stopped as he turned and faced two drawn pistols and two cold-faced women. There was a muffled "oof" as Aylah took care of the man touching her. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't going to be causing any trouble anytime soon. She rendered the same treatment to Goetz. The three then secured the mercenaries and kept them far apart from one another. A quick pat-down yielded backup weapons and knives.

Outside, there was the sound of a single gunshot, followed by the shouting of several men. They couldn't distinguish voices, but in seconds, there was silence. The three women looked at each other nervously, wondering what was going on outside.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Several of the Ravenwood men put their weapons in the trucks and started to pull boxes out to be loaded. The unmistakable sound of a round being chambered froze them in their tracks. Some tried to move, but a single shot stopped them again. More than one man began cursing himself for putting his main weapon down.

"That's far enough, boys," Jonah drawled. "And don't get cute. You're well covered and if you start the fight, you won't live to see the end of it."

"What the hell do you yokels thing you're doing! We're working for the government-" came the yelled response from Goetz's second in command.

"Bullshit!" came from another source.

There were shouts and threats hurled back and forth, but Jonah gave a shrill whistle and the noise stopped.

"Now," he said, taking a step forward. "You will all move out away from the trucks. You will kneel. You will remain kneeling while you are checked over and relieved of any and all weapons. You will then be restrained. If you resist, you will be shot. If you are lucky, we will kill you with that shot. Do you have any objections, gentlemen?"

The men were breathing hard, but then they saw how precarious their position was.

"Do what he says," came the bitter voice of the second. "Step out and kneel. If you do something stupid, you deserve to die."

It didn't take but about five minutes for the Ravenwood operatives to be searched and restrained. Marcus, the man who'd had the most information about the mercenaries used in Iraq, came down and got names. Aylah, Heather, and Emily had come out, dragging the two unconscious men behind them.

"Boss," he said, pulling Jonah to the side. "Several of these men are wanted for warcrimes. Bad ones. Genocide included."

Jonah took a deep breath. "Okay. We load them up and take them with us. Can't make this decision here," he said. At Marcus' look, he clarified. "Too many people would object to me making the unilateral decision."

"True that," Marcus said, looking back. "I'm taping their fingers together. I don't trust these motherfuckers."

Jonah nodded, but said, "Your grandmother would wash your mouth out for that." Miss Maddie was half Marcus's size, if that.

"Yeah, but what Granny don't know won't taste bad," Marcus replied, flashing Jonah a brilliant grin.

Jonah laughed and they stuffed the Ravenwood men into the back of the moving truck they'd bought, taking the time to tape their fingers together and not being particular about how carefully they were tossed into the truck. To make sure no planning could take place, they wrapped two layers of duct tape over their mouths, carefully taking the tape all the way around their heads.

The trip back was uneventful, the unloading and cataloguing smooth and easy - until they opened the shiny new moving truck.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	24. They Days After: 32 Evening

**On a Dark Horse-25**

**Timeline:** Bombs + 32 (evening/night)

**Disclaimer:** Insert my standard disclaimer here.

**A/N:** The plurals and certain terms in English are masculine, but can refer to either sex. In this case, "councilman" is used for both genders. I will never use "councilperson" or "chairperson" or "chairwoman" because the correct form of address is "Madam Chairman", not a separation of gender that in essence creates a new species called "chairpeople". What would that be? _Homo Chairus_? Political correctness is a useless, stupid thing that denies the origins of the words and femininity, which really irks me personally. I'm sorry, but an actress should be called an actress - to do otherwise is to imply that a female who acts is somehow not comparable to a male, and therefore must disguise her gender. under a supposed gender neutral term which is, in fact, masculine and therefore not only not gender neutral, but suborning a large part of her identity as a person and a woman. Argh! End of note & gripe session.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

The noise from the council meeting died down. Jonah took his place at the center of the group, facing the council.

"Look, we've got information about war crimes these guys have committed. Master Sergeant Clarind and Jake Green," a few people looked aside, "who spent time in the Army and Iraq," the heads turned back and closer attention was paid, "confirm that Ravenwood can't even make it onto Santa's Naughty List. They're not that good. Now, we've got fifteen of twenty-two names confirmed as wanted by the federal government for crimes that made some of the shit I saw in Vietnam look like child's play. The question isn't if they're guilty anymore, the question is what do we do about it?"

"We don't have evidence, a trial judge, or anything else," one of the younger men, a lawyer, contributed.

"No," Serena Givens said, thinking carefully, "but we can form a military tribunal with the people we have available. Contractors, if I recall the brief correctly, are not under civilian law, but fall under the Uniform Code of Military Justice if they are captured in a combat situation. Was that the case?"

Jonah nodded. "Weighted for our side, but yes. And one of their own men, one they left for dead, is willing to testify to civil crimes in Rogue River. Mass murder," he added, "of doctors, elderly and ill citizens of Rogue River. In the hospital."

Silence filled the room.

"All right. We'll hear from this new man," the lawyer said. "Then we'll call for a jury and look at the options."

Jonah stepped out and got the young mercenary, telling him only that the council wanted to speak with him about the events that had occurred in the hospital.

Randy Peyton walked into the room, faced the councilmen, and waited for the first question.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah, having a few other things to take care of, didn't stay. Instead, started setting up preparations for a second, larger run, this time recruiting help from Hayes. He sent the Hayes liaison, a young teacher with family ties there, over to discuss what was needed. In the hall, Jonah spoke with the girl.

"How many transport trucks does your town have available?" he asked, thinking of the refineries and the deliveries they made.

"Several. Even a few older transport planes," she added, "C-130Hs, and one or two pilots for them. If anyone around here has the ability to fly Vietnam era cargo planes, we can increase the number of available cargo planes, too. And they don't use regular gasoline. From here to Rogue River or from Hayes to Rogue River is a short hop, we can get several trips on a single tank, even loaded down."

Jonah smiled, a slow, sharklike smile. "What's your name again, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Victoria Jamison," she replied. "Why?"

"Well, Miss Jamison, there's a boy I'd like you to meet…" Draping an arm around the nervous girl's shoulders, Jonah went looking for Jake.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"C-130H?" Jake said, working the math. "That's as much weight as half the transport crew brought back today, and if we can get the correct aircrew for it, we can bring in the bigger, heavier things in the plane."

"Planes," the Victoria corrected. "And we can. We'll need a good landing strip, though, and not too far from the main part of town, if we're going to get this to work properly." Jake looked at her, and she kept talking. "We've also got a few of the larger choppers, a Sea Knight, a Sea Stallion, a Chinook, a Jolly Green Giant, and others, foreign-built."

"Jonah," Jake said, nodding to the girl, "we'll put about eighty people to do work into the plane. I'll fly lead, make sure no one's out there and coming for us. I would take one of the transports, but frankly, I'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable with more mobility."

"We've got an aviation museum in Hayes, courtesy of my grandfather's passion for planes," Victoria supplied. "He and Grandma are running things. Jake, if you can fly the C-130, he'll insist upon flying his Spitfire, in which case your duster will be pretty much useless. If you can fly something else, that'd be better." She paused, then informed them, "I don't know if they mentioned it, but they're equipping the military planes, the ones that are still strong enough and flight-worthy, with vintage weapons. If you don't have the pilots needed, there's a lot of them in Hayes. Grandma and Grandpa are pretty well-known in the vintage and re-enactment circles, so several people who are in that circuit moved to Hayes. I mean, we've got pilots, but not as many as we do airplanes. We've become a museum town, really, and there's not many tourists that come our way on a regular basis. A lot of the aircraft go out to air shows, but those are in late spring and early summer, so they're in maintenance."

"I'd heard about it," Jake confessed, "but I never got around to going to check it out. I figured it'd be like the Bartstown museum." He smiled when Victoria groaned. That 'museum' consisted of a few old gold-mining tools and some half-decayed wooden things that were supposedly used to take gold and silver ore from the mine to the refinery, which was part of the museum, but no one could enter due because it had been condemned for over fifty years.

"No, Grandma and Grandpa put together a first-class museum. Mostly, though, it was a place for airshows across the country to hook up with pilots and people who had and restored the older planes." She frowned. "I'm pretty sure that fixing up the old WWII planes with original weapons is illegal, but hell, what good would they do against the modern Air Force? I mean, they were good planes for their day, but a F6F Hellcat or P-39 against an F-16 with full armament? Can you say screwed?"

Jake laughed and nodded. "Hell, yes. I learned to handle these for fun, just because I could, but I need a flight crew. Have we got the fuel?"

"Oh, yeah. We got plenty of fuel for them." Victoria stood up. "Look, I can get word to Grandma tonight, over the shortwave. We'll set up for a late meeting tonight, and we'll get in the air tomorrow morning." She gave Jake a mischevious look. "If you can handle the early time, flyboy."

"Watch it," he growled. "I was Army."

She smirked. "Poor thing," and with that, she traipsed out the door, leaving Jonah chuckling at the younger man.

J*J*J*J*J*J

About that time, Randy Peyton left the room and the sound of voices came from inside. Randy walked out, looking at Jonah and Jake.

"I…I need you to know," he said, hanging his head. "I emptied my weapon in there, too," he said. "I didn't realize until I hit a doctor. I tried to stop them after that, but they turned on me, too." He looked up at them. "I'll accept whatever they decide, even…even if it means my death."

Jonah nodded. "You told them this?" he asked.

"Yessir, I did," Randy said, treating Jonah like his superior. In this town, he was.

"Then I need to get back in there. Jake, get Noah and Billy and take Randy over to the Stevens house." At Jake's raised eyebrows, Jonah explained. "Some of the same issues, nightmares, wounds." He turned to Randy. "No weapons. Noah and Billy will explain why that's important, but it'll help all of you there."

"I'm going to a nuthouse?" Randy asked, not expecting this kind of treatment.

"No, to stay with a group that's had a really bad time since the bombs. Like I said, Noah will explain. I'm not going to screw you on this, Randy," Jonah said, looking at the man. "And I'm going to try and keep you from getting whatever the others get, those that are wanted for various crimes. You may have screwed up, but you've shown you want to change. The others, not so much."

"Tyler, Jacobs, Warschov, Mickelay, and I were new to Goetz's group. Most of the other guys served with him in Iraq. We heard some things, but I'd only been with him the past three weeks. If no one else…Goetz and his second, Timms and Burkett…they're the worst. I didn't tell them that, but I figured you need to know."

"I'll tell them that, too. Jake," with that order, Jake helped Randy to the phone and called down to the office for Noah and Billy. He waited with Randy while Jonah returned to the councilroom.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"Okay, so," he said coming in, "got some new info about transport tomorrow, but that means I'm going to need another three or four hundred people, any qualified pilots, and especially the high school students. They're strong and fit and can work loading and unloading for hours. Now, what's the decision on the mercs?"

The abrupt introduction of a different subject followed by the recapitulation to their original one broke the dark mood that Johnston and Titus had been trying to lift for the past several minutes.

"We've considered the options," Serena Givens said, looking around the table. "The decision is that the original standing of the federal government is in place: Those who are on MSgt. Clarind's list of wanted criminals will be questioned and then a decision will be made regarding their punishment. For the leaders, Goetz and," she looked at the table in front of her, "Yaley, however, there is to be no reprieve. The others named will be placed under a stay of execution pending the outcomes of their interviews."

"Method?" Jonah asked, his practical nature coming to the fore.

"We've got the traditional methods of firing squad, hanging, or lethal substances," Johnston said.

"I will not mix a poison like that, Johnston Green, so just get it out of your head," came the familiar voice of Laureanna St. Xavier. "And I don't think we're up to a firing squad," she added, looking around. No one seemed happy with that choice.

"Looks like it's hanging," Johnston said, unhappy with the result. "Duty used to go to the sheriff, but I guess we'll have to choose someone for the duty until we've got a new one."

"Get 'em to the tree," came a soft, melancholy voice, "and I can do it." That voice belonged to Titus Clarind.

"You won't be alone, Brother Clarind," said Jonah.

"No, not at all," Johnston said, looking around the table. "We'll all be there, along with the other members of Ravenwood on the list."

"Got two more that will probably end up the same way. Timms and Burkett." Jonah was again practical. "Don't know the particulars, but I'm betting some of their buddies will roll and tell us."

"What about the Peyton boy?" a woman asked. She was old enough that she could call Johnston 'boy'.

"He hasn't been with Goetz's group for long. I'm willing to give him a chance. Seems like a good sort, if he can get his head straightened out again. To help him with that, I'm putting him with Christine and the other girls from the highway." Breath sucked in around the table, but Miss Maddie and Laureanna nodded.

"Good thinkin', honey," Laureanna approved. "Those girls will help him through the worst parts, but he'll feel guilty enough he won't want to take anything out on them, especially how young they are. He's only about twenty-seven himself."

Jonah nodded, accepting the praise and asked, "Anything else you need me for tonight?"

"Three hundred people, Jonah?" a man asked. "Do you need that many?"

"Yes, or more. Preferably closer to four hundred. And it'll take us about three or four days to get it all done. We'll have help from Hayes-"

"We should send to New Bern, too. We'll offer them splits from the plants in the nursery, greenhouse supplies, some other things." This from another councilman, a younger man who'd spent time teaching before he'd gone on to work for the newspaper. He was keeping a want-need-have board on the window of the newspaper office downtown. Clever man had painted the back of the window a light grey and used dry-erase markers on the glass to update information. He was also working in the distribution center of the supplies. Man had a positive genius for keeping track of materials and people.

"All right. Miss Maddie, if you'd prepare that group, we'll try to get to them in the next week. Meanwhile, it'll take a bit more work on those of us here to pick up the slack, but we can do it. Let's do an all-call for volunteers, maybe we can get more people to do the work and cut down the time it takes to do it."

"Lisinski asked to have the chem teacher come along. Something about chemical transport from the schools and school warehouses. Also the factories they have there." He grinned. "And Princess Stevens made sure to comment on the unusual availability of quality skin and hair care products." Chuckles ran around the room, many of the councilmen marking the rough affection in his voice. "While it seems a bit silly, girl's got a point. Less we have to make, the better off we'll be. And we can reuse the bottles for non-consumables, too."

There were no objections, and the called meeting later that night, made possible by neighbourhood phonetrees that everyone used religiously for important news, such as hazardous weather or some major announcement, produced almost everyone in the town, in person or represented by a member of the family or house.

Over 600 people volunteered, including Hawkins, the high school students, and several miners. Jonah gave the departure time, four a.m. for ground and air transport, and told them to bring lunch, dinner, and bottled water. April Green was going to attend with a medical station, just to be on the safe side, and the entire crew that he'd taken the day before volunteered to go again.

As the crowd dispursed, Johnston looked over at the council.

"Any reservations to the nominations for sheriff?" he asked. No one had any objections.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	25. The Days After: 37

**On a Dark Horse-26**

**Timeline:** Bombs + 37

**A/N:** Yes, I'm monkeying with the timeline just a teensy bit. Again. I'd say "so sue me," but someone might take me seriously…

**Disclaimer:** Speaking of suing, don't. I know I'm playing in the sandbox created by & belonging to others.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

The raid of Rogue River was accomplished within five days. With almost seven hundred volunteers from Jericho and another four hundred from Hayes, the buildings were emptied of useful things quickly. This included all school textbooks, every book in the town, including those in abandoned homes (and not-so-abandoned homes), and all of the large storefront glass along major streets. The logic in the last was that they could make more greenhouses with the storefront glass, especially if they created them the same way as the ones they'd put in not long ago, in the style of the orangery. Given that the glass was tempered, at the least, it would hold up well in the weather. That suggestion had come from Shawn Henthorne, which had everyone puzzled. When did he get an idea? But no one, not even Stanley Richmond, could argue with the validity of the suggestion. Between new greenhouses and the sheer amount of compost-infused, nutrient-rich "dirt" they were churning out regularly (thanks to an avid fisherman's suggestion of adding worms to the compost piles and stirring frequently), they'd have more crops grown in the next few months than Jericho had ever seen.

The nurseries and greenhouses outside people's homes yielded hundreds of useful plants, including some exotic herbs that, if nothing else, could be used to disguise the taste of the repeated repast of freshly-butchered chicken. The real treasure-trove was in a section of town that housed the Bohemian set, a group of people who were "left of normal", but never called stupid. These were the craftsmen and Renaissance fair artisans who had studied the ways of forging, creating glasswares, pottery, and other useful, handmade products. Skylar and Lisa, with the assistance of several happy females of various ages, packed the salons.

Rogue River gas stations hadn't been emptied, so they used the resilient fuel-bladders found at the airport and 55 gallon drums found in various industrial stores throughout town to haul the fuel back to Jericho. No one was using gasoline if they could help it. It wasn't the dictate of the mayor or the council, but the appeal to conservation - right now, they had enough fuel to make sure the most important buildings could have power if the wind died, and, if need be, send for help or run away from something horrible. More than enough to use the tractors for harvest & planting seasons, though many farmers were talking more about using horses and mules for ploughing. The cautionary note was that no more fuel would be coming into town anytime soon, not that they knew of. That, along with Miss Maddie's insistence they think ahead to the possibilities, think sideways to other ways of accomplishing the same tasks, had prompted a town-wide, self-imposed moratorium on gas consumption for almost everyone on personal business.

With the trucks hauling back and forth to the planes, the people emptying the stores & homes, and the determination to survive anything that was thrown at them, the same determination that had helped their ancestors settle the town, the planes began taking off about three hours after landing. They managed an average of 24 planeloads per day, with pilots napping between each load. Once again, night shifts were instituted courtesy of one Jonah Prowse, of whom many things were said, though in a relatively good-natured way of grumbling.

The work was constant, consistent, and well-planned, which meant the town was emptied quickly. Everything went to Jericho to be catalogued, which endeared Jonah's 24-hour workday to none of the clerks and at least two threatened to personally put weevils in his flour-shipments. No one would actually do such a thing, since that would be counter-productive and wasteful of good flour, but it was fun to think about. The shipments may have gone to Jericho, but everything they had retrieved from the train and Rogue River was available to the people of Hayes as well, since they had been instrumental in retrieving the goods. No one in Jericho begrudged the contributions to Hayes, any more than the people of Hayes begrudged sending flour and sugar and other things to Jericho. The system of mutual support was considered to be more advantageous than competition or animosity.

New Bern hadn't been available yet. There were two groups of highwaymen operating on the road that made the trip by a single car untenable. A trip was scheduled for the next day. Heather, although she was offered a chance to go help negotiate had refused. She wouldn't say why, but it was clear that she was not happy with her hometown. Not even Jake could tease the reasons from her, and he tried every method at his disposal. Although Heather enjoyed his attempts to weasel the information from her, she was in no way forthcoming. She did, however, tell him he was welcome to try again, as many times as he was capable. Since she had so adamantly refused, it was decided that Alex Jenkins would head negotiations, since he had several friends on the city council there and was widely considered one of the most even-handed men in the area.

J*J*J*J*J*J

After the last shift had reported in late in the evening, Jonah walked into the council meeting, tired, yes, but more than pleased with the many things they'd found. Granted, a few pranksters had emptied the two adult shops of everything, even if they couldn't identify some of the things or figure out what purpose they could have, no one was entirely certain who had cleaned out the pet store of every last item, including some for exotic pets that couldn't survive a Kansas winter, and someone else had snagged every single record or CD found in the entire place, but maybe there was something useful in there, after all. If not, as Johnston said, they'd figure out something to do with the stuff.

The meeting was called to order, and various subjects were quickly discussed and dispensed with. The systems they had put in place were functioning beautifully, with only minor hiccups here and there, but nothing that could cause problems. Hayes, having implemented the same systems, found that the smoothness of the new practices hadn't dimmed personal responsibility or replaced individual freedoms with the "greater good", i.e. the people in charge of the town. There was a realization that each person had a place, a role in the survival of the group, and for the most part, no one felt squashed or overwhelmed by the situation. Everyone, even the smallest children, helped in the daily chores.

The elderly citizens of both towns were the ones people came to for advice, for help in creating or recreating something that had been used years before, but modern technology had made obsolete. Skills that were in danger of being forever lost were returning to the younger generations, and no one thought it was a poor outcome. The most interesting outcome was that any idea was considered and debated, then if the idea was found to be worth attempting, a few people would do so. If the idea panned out, then it would be implemented elsewhere, too - such as the conversion of the hotel to a bathhouse & barber-shop. The ice-cream parlour was powered up and used to store milk & other dairy products. It had been the decision of the farmers that Bonnie's new position as head of the old-fashioned dairy required a new, custom-made barn/dairy setup. This one had all of the equipment she needed brought in from the two dairy farms, but much more room for the combined herds, another idea that hadn't been easy to sell, but had been considered and finally agreed to, since there were several good reasons to combine the herds and brands were brands, after all.

Finally, after the twenty-seventh variation of "things are going well - and someone had the idea to include…", the nominations for sheriff came up. Three names were on the list, and there would be a vote by the town, of course, for the new sheriff.

Jonah was only half listening by that point, thinking instead of what had to be done to get an envoy safely to New Bern and back. He was considering the best person to lead the expedition when he heard his name.

"Jonah Prowse," said a younger man.

"I'm sorry?" the man in question said, coming back to the meeting.

"You're the third nominee for sheriff," said the man. "There was no small concern about this, but the overall consensus is that you're good for the job, despite a rather colourful past."

"Or because of it," May White said. "It's not like Reilley was a saint, you know."

"Very true," said another of Reilley's generation. "The tales I could tell…"

"Wait a minute. Hold on," Jonah was having some serious trouble wrapping his head around this. "You want me, _me_, to become a cop? Here?"

"Well, that was the general idea," Johnston said, dryly. "Only you'd be the cop in charge."

"Have you lost your fucking minds?" he asked, not bothering to check the question. Eyebrows went up around the table. "There's no good reason that-"

"Other than clearing the roads," said one woman.

"That wasn't-" Jonah tried to say.

"And getting those girls back here for help," added an elderly man.

"But anyone-" he tried again.

"And getting those mercenaries captured, after what they did," Titus added.

"It wasn't anything-" But he was doomed.

"Or keeping that Peyton boy safe, putting him where he could get help," Miss Maddie added.

Jonah stopped trying to interrupt, but sat there, a childish voice in his head squawking "But I don't _wanna_ be the sheriff, Johnny!", as if this were a game of cops-and-robbers he'd played as a kid.

"And coordinating with the security council - which now has a name, I should add," Serena Givens stated. "Jericho Rangers, in the spirit of the Texas Rangers. When Hayes and Jericho fully integrate their security patrols, we'll become the Tybee County Rangers."

After a few more mentions of the things he'd done in the past month or so, Jonah finally raised his hands in surrender.

"All right. You win. I'll let my name stay in the hat for the election. But," he said, giving them a no-nonsense, no-compromise look, "if I actually win this damned thing, God forbid, then you'll have to accept the way I do things. We're not in sweet-old-Kansas anymore, Dorothy. New situation, new rules, new ways of applying law and order."

"But you will recall that this is the U.S., not some Iron Curtain country with the KGB breathing down its neck, right?" Serena Givens. Who else?

"Of course. But I'm not a nit-picker. If two guys want to beat the crap out of each other over something stupid, I figure they'll learn more from the bruises than me going in and breaking them up. If it's actually serious or could become serious, then I'll step in, but not a moment before." He looked around. "There's just too damned much to do."

"Oh, I think we can stand it," said Johnston grinning. He was enjoying this. Of the people present, he and two others, Titus and Miss Maddie, could get the better of Jonah on occasion. He was a slippery little bastard, though Johnston thought so in the nicest way. Jonah wouldn't see it that way, of course, but that was what made them such good friends.

"Speaking of elections," Jonah said, smirking at Johnston, suddenly remembering something, "what do you say we hold off on this sheriff's election until your own opponent returns? Put 'em both together?"

Johnston scowled at his friend and nemesis. "You little-" he bit his tongue, then continued. "That will not get your name off the ballot, Jonah."

"No, but it will make it a hell of a lot more fun for me," Jonah said, grinning unrepentantly.

Johnston muttered something under his breath that had Miss Maddie lean over and smack his hand.

"Shame on you, Johnston Green." Her voice was unmistakable, as was the snicker Serena Givens was trying to suppress.

At least Gray Anderson hadn't returned yet. The election could wait. The meeting was about to dismiss when Jimmy came running in.

"Gray's back! He's back from Topeka." He stopped suddenly and stared at them, waiting. He didn't even know how to ask the question he needed to have an answer to.

"Well, send him in here," Johnston said, every eye now riveted on the doors. Jimmy rushed out and there was a tense minute as they waited for Gray Anderson to file in.

Gray Anderson came in, obviously hurt and exhausted. Laureanna went for her medicine bag, which was never far from her, and walked down to meet Gray and start looking over his injuries.

"So, what's Topeka like?" an impatient woman asked.

"Got near Topeka about two days out. Hundred miles out, ran into a group from FEMA. Got some news. The governor's gone. No one's heard from him in weeks. There was pretty heavy fallout from Lawrence, and the capital has a ring of National Guard troops around it, preventing anyone from entering without being from FEMA. Caught a ride on a FEMA truck, just to get in to try and see what was going on, but we never got there." He paused and sipped some water that Laureanna handed him. "We were about fifty miles from the capital when some guys ran us off the road. The truck was hauling water for a FEMA camp outside the city. There was nothing else there, but the driver…they beat him to death. On the side of the road. Just…" His eyes went distant and he was quiet for a few minutes.

"I came to on the side of the road, then made my way to a FEMA camp and started working my way back. It's taken me over a month, but I'm back. It's hell out there. Hell on Earth…" He stopped speaking and shook his head over and over.

"Well," Laureanna said, "I think you need to get to the clinic and then home to rest a while. We can talk more tomorrow, since Topeka's not going anywhere tonight."

Gray gave a half-smile that faded as quickly as it appeared. "Not that we know of, anyway," he added, his voice melancholy and exhausted.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Johnston looked at his wife as they were preparing for bed. She'd lost weight over the past month. Then again, so had he. He was never slender, like Jonah was, but now his younger physique was more evident - barrel chest, strong torso, well-muscled hips and legs. He hadn't lost much of his strength as he aged, he'd just added a layer or so of extra padding. Some of the padding was still there, but much less than had been a month ago. Was it only a month?

But Gail…between the diet and the constant work, she'd gotten back close to the size she'd been when Jake was running her ragged. Boy never could stand still. Even as a newborn, he moved in his sleep. Come to think of it, the only time Jake could stand being still was when he and Johnston were in a deer stand, not talking, not moving, just waiting. Johnston would never complain about his wife's figure, he'd enjoyed it for years, but the neckline of that pajama top slid a little more to the side, showing more of the curve of her neck and shoulder…and Johnston did appreciate a well-turned curve.

As nice as it was to notice these things, he had something else to discuss with her. Even though that button was down lower…Right. That other subject. What was it again? Oh, yes.

"Gray's going to want that election even more now," Johnston said to Gail as she brushed out her hair. It was still red, but now little hints of grey were creeping in at the temples, and it was an awkward length. She'd decided to let her hair grow out some, instead of trying to keep it trimmed every two weeks. He loved to watch her brush her hair.

"I thought you didn't want to discuss the election," Gail said, echoing his earlier comments. She enjoyed giving him a little hell, but he was the devil himself about elections. She'd know. She'd lived through enough of them.

"No, I don't," Johnston said, sighing heavily. "But I know the man. He's going to cause more trouble over things he knows nothing about, hell, even over the few things he does know about. And I am not looking forward to refereeing for the match between Skylar and Gray over the mine, either."

Gail turned and walked over to her husband. Her attire was in no way sensual, but something about the way the flannel pajamas caressed the curve of her hip managed to distract him. There was that obsession with curves again. 'Course, he really couldn't blame himself for it. His wife had always been able to capture his attention. Even when he didn't want her to. She was always distracting him when she moved like that, graceful as when they were young. Er. Younger. He was not getting old. Nope. Not happening.

"I thought she was turning out to be an incredible manager, really knew the business," Gail commented. It was really a request for more information.

"She is. She does. Changed production to pull more for the Epsom-style salts, the medicinal salts. We've got more than enough refined salt for well into the next year, even including salting fish and meats for Hayes and even New Bern, if we can get in touch with 'em. She's also looking at adding a few of the by-products they get out of the mine, like certain minerals, can't remember the name of 'em, for the craftsmen and professionals to use. Something about abundance and myriad uses - her words, by the way."

"Then what's the problem?" Gail waited while Johnston gathered his thoughts. He didn't go in for long conversations much. When he did, she made sure to pay attention. He was more the one-liner and simple, straightforward answer type of man. It could be frustrating, but he more than made up for his lack of words with his actions and presence. Especially his actions.

"The problem is she's a sixteen-year-old-girl who, as far as Gray knows, isn't entirely sure what the mine produces, much less the processes that turn out the tradegoods. And you know Gray," he said, sighing again. The man was convinced he had all of the answers, even when he didn't know the questions. As it was, Johnston was glad he wasn't from around Jericho. It made it more acceptable for him to remain impatient with the man. If he'd been born here…Well, no one from around here had quite that level of arrogance on them, but if he had been born here, Johnston couldn't let himself be irritated with Gray so quickly. It was one of the few times Johnston liked outsiders coming in to Jericho.

"Well, Johnston, the only thing I can say is that all he has is words. On the other hand," she added, touching on something Johnston hated, "you'll need to say something, too." When he opened his mouth to protest, she covered it with her hand. "Not immediately, not a lot, but something. Believe me, the people of this town know how good they have it now, and why. We'll have plenty of food to get us through the winter, thanks to the supplies we got from the trains and the greenhouses that will start yielding in late November. Then we'll get spring sowing done, continue working with the greenhouses, the herds. We've got sheep, cows, chickens, and turkeys. Two farmers were even raising rabbits for meat supplies - two new litters already. Just remind the people of what we've already done together, the council and people who know what's really happened will take care of the rest."

"Yeah, and when Jonah's the subject of Gray's speeches?" Johnston knew it was a touchy subject and one Gray would harp on indefinitely. _Ad nauseum_. In fact, he was getting slightly nauseous just thinking about listening to Gray drone on about Jonah. No, not drone. Wax hysterical. Gray was a talker, but he wasn't as much of a doer. Nor was he inspirational. The sad fact was the man had more potential than anyone had seen, but because of his personality flaws and his tendency to move in a reactionary manner, he couldn't manage to lead. Not really.

"I think he'll ride that horse, but he'll never even know when it throws him. Jonah's done too much lately to have the town turn against him. More than one person has mentioned they'd think Jonah would be a great sheriff - and none of them have said it around the others in my hearing." She didn't quite understand Johnston's amusement about that, but she had a point to make, and she was going to make it whether he was chuckling or not. "Maybe he does have an interesting past, but people our age knew Jonah growing up. Most of the younger ones are finding it hard to remember why he wasn't wanted in town. Sometimes, I wonder - and I know why! It's not that…" She lost the phrase and changed her sentence. "It's just that he's done so much to help us all, and he hasn't been trying to hide anything."

"He didn't hide anything when he was stealing from the mines, either," Johnston snorted. "Stevens wouldn't prosecute." Johnston still didn't understand it, but it was Stevens' mine, after all.

"For whatever reason Stevens had and you don't know. Besides, when the man trusted his daughter to Jonah? When all of the worst things were going on? We saw that date on Stevens' will. That was back when Gray had just come in, demanded Jonah's dismissal, and the mine was in complete chaos. That's more of a vote of confidence than anything." She smiled at her grouchy bear of a husband and flicked back the blanket on the bed. She didn't see Johnston step back and watch her bend over the bed, but then, she knew he was there. Johnston didn't see her smile, either, but after so many years, they didn't have to see each other to know. Or to continue the conversation. "Besides, Skylar won't let that stand long, and neither will the Carmichaels. I wouldn't be surprised if that little girl made her opinion known loudly and unequivocally on the subject."

Jonah chuckled. "Can't wait to see Gray's face when he finds out I'm basically rubber-stamping Skylar's decisions about the mine. Or that he's got only the amount of say she allows him in the mine itself. And she's not one to hand power over easily. If he's lucky, she'll let him take inventory, but she'll have someone watching him like a hawk."

"Mm. No love lost there, I know," Gail said, remembering the girl's reaction when Gray would come into town hall while she was there, with or without her parents. She really didn't like him. Gail understood, since her reaction had been exactly the same, but she'd never been able to figure out why. Maybe Skylar had. "But why did you laugh when I said people were talking about making Jonah the sheriff?"

Johnston chuckled again, thinking of Jonah's reaction to his nomination for sheriff. "You can't say a word, since it's not public yet, but he's on the short list for the sheriff's position. One of three, and the other two don't have a snowball's chance in the Sahara of making it. As for Gray and Skylar, it'll be interesting times," Johnston smiled down at Gail, stepping forward so that she was close enough to touch, "but that's enough about them. It's getting pretty chilly out there."

Gail smiled, her eyes twinkling wickedly. She didn't have to wonder what Johnston was up to. She knew quite well. "It is. We'd better keep warm." She was more than willing to table their discussion in favor.

"Learned something about keeping warm in the Army," Johnston mused, manufacturing a thoughtful expression and sliding his hands around her slimmer waist. "Involved body heat."

"Really?" Gail said, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head to the side. "Maybe you can explain it to me."

"Not much to say," Johnston said, pulling her closer and nuzzling her conveniently exposed neck. "Better demonstrate."

The sound of soft, feminine laughter drifted under the closed bedroom door, but no one heard. Eric wasn't home and April was in their bed, down the hall, alone. Jake hadn't slept in his room since that night he'd spent with Heather.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Skylar, the subject of much discussion elsewhere, was in her bed at Jonah's the pillow firmly over her head. It wasn't nearly as bad this time, but there was just enough noise to keep her from sleeping. And this time, yet another pair of voices were coming through the ventilation system.

If she didn't know better, she'd be convinced she'd been transported into the circle of Hell where rabbits were entrapped in human bodies.

Worse, the rabbit-people were perpetually horny.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	26. The Days After: 39 through 42

On a Dark Horse-25

Bombs + 39 - 42

Warnings: None, well, a little Gray-bashing.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Gray walked into town hall, feeling almost human again. He walked into the mayor's office and found Eric, the deputy mayor, working through some proposals for the council meeting in a few hours. The older man had been badly shaken by his experiences on the road, and was worried about a few things.

"Eric," he said by way of greeting, "I've been looking around. I'm glad we've got a security council. I'm sure we're going to need it sometime. But I'm a bit worried. I'm seeing a lot of new faces in town, and I gotta say it's not comforting." He extended a list to Eric. Gracie Lee's mouth had been so very helpful in creating this list. Her penchant for gossip was local legend.

"What's this?" Eric asked, taking the paper and skimming it. "Looks like a list of names."

"It is. The list has all of the new arrivals in Jericho in the last month. Since the bombs. There are twenty-three new singles and over twenty new families. Has anyone checked them out?"

Eric frowned. "This is all a bit Soviet Russia, Gray."

"Hey, I've been out there. We gotta be careful who we're sharing our foxhole with. What do we know about these people?"

"What? Robert Hawkins? The man's got a family - been nothing but helpful." Eric stopped skimming the list and started really reading it. "Gray, are you trying to get yourself lynched? You have three Clarinds, two Jenkins, and three St. Xaviers in here! You try anything with those families and you're going to get the entire town after you. Marcus Clarind, Father Xavier Clarind, Porphyria Perkins, who is a Clarind by birth and a Perkins by marriage? Her husband, Antony Perkins?" Eric looked up at Gray. "I know what you're thinking, Gray, but this is just…nuts." He shook his head. "I'll bring it up at the council meeting at six, but I'm not going to fight for it. There's just too much room for error, and we're not going to become some small-town form of neo-Nazis here-"

"It's not anything that extreme. Just ask a few questions. Find out how they got here. Why they came here. If there is anything unusual in their home-"

"And you plan to do this with the six girls who are living at the Stevens place?" Eric was thoroughly disgusted. "You go near those girls with anyone, Gray, and I'll kick your ass myself. No!" he snapped as the man opened his mouth to object and 'clarify'. "No. They've been through more than enough. And Randy Peyton has, too. We know where he was and what he's done, and he's recovering with those girls for a reason. Now, leave it alone and I'll raise the question at the meeting. This one is an open meeting, so you are welcome to come in, but if you want to see the end of the meeting in one piece, for God's sake keep your mouth shut."

With that, Eric escorted Gray to the door and closed it firmly behind him.

At the meeting, when new business was mentioned, Eric did raise the point of new arrivals.

"At the risk of sounding paranoid, which you can call me all day long in a minute, there is some question about new arrivals here in town. We know about the men from Ravenwood, the four on death row remain in custody and the others have been scattered into different homes. Mostly, they're helping the houses with seniors or very young children." He smiled, heads nodded, "So far, it's working quite well. They're getting involved because the people they're around are in some manner unable to do for themselves. But there's another group, like Ravenwood, which has no ties to this town. Refugees or travellers who have found a place here. Some, yes, brought their families." He held up a hand to forestall Johnston's comment. "But why here? If it was convenience, I can understand, but what other reason could there be? We were never exactly high on the list of places to live - hell, we didn't even have a webpage. The Kansas state website had us in as a footnote. Not that anyone really minded, I don't think, but it does raise a question."

"Just what, exactly," Johnston's voice overrode the spate of comments, "do you expect to find? How do you want to do this? Just go knocking on doors and say, 'Excuse me, are you a terrorist in hiding?' Hell, son! You'll start riots that way!"

"Nothing like that. Nothing like it at all. I am just putting forth the question of security and newcomers."

Gray stood up. "Mayor, councilmen, this is an important issue. Who is here? Who came from out of town and why did they come? Who are these people we are handing rifles and letting run the security force - what was it, the Jericho Rangers? Why did-"

"That's more than enough, Mr. Anderson," came the icy voice of May White. "Either sit down and be silent or be removed. There is enough paranoia in this room without your demagoguery."

"Dema-" Gray looked confused.

"It means fearmongering," the ordinarly gentle voice was positively acidic reply of Titus Clarind. "The last thing we need is a little Hitler preaching hate and fear. We have enough of those already."

"My suggestion," Eric said, leaping into the sudden silence and motioning for Gray to sit down, "is that the new sheriff simply interview the people he hasn't dealt with for an extended period of town. No vouchers or anything would be necessary, simply a bit more background information."

There was a long silence. Gray closed his mouth and sat down slowly. The simple question of who was here and new to town hadn't really been considered because of the things that had taken priority.

"Tradition was," came a well-known gravelly voice from the back, "that no one asked questions if information wasn't volunteered." Jonah pushed away from his favourite piece of wall and walked toward the front of the room. He wasn't exactly on the council, but he wasn't exactly not on it - he was part of the security council and a voice that added in a few things from the outside of the box. "And there was a reason for it. If a man was running from his past, willing to make a good start, he was welcome to do so. If his past caught him, well, that was dealt with then." He paused. "This isn't the same situation. The U.S. was attacked, exact information is still unknown about the extent and the damage." Jonah considered his next phrase carefully. "Let the new sheriff do this, whoever he is. If he's been in town and working with different people throughout the last several weeks, he has a good idea about most of the newcomers. Those that aren't so forthcoming with information, a few questions wouldn't be amiss." Jonah gave the council a wry smile. "Paranoia is one thing. It's pretty much useless. Doesn't do anything but cause fractures and division. Reasonable care is another. Question is: Who will be the new sheriff? Do you trust this person to ask the questions and come back with answers?"

"Valid questions-" Serena began, her tone thoughtful.

"When is this election going to be?" Gray asked, suddenly. "Will it include the mayoral election?"

Johnston closed his eyes and bit his tongue. He kept biting it until tears came to his eyes and the urge to remove Grays head from his neck with a rusted spoon passed. He remained silent.

"When would you like the election to be, Gray?" came the saccharine voice from the councilmen's table. It was Miss Maddie with an positively evil gleam in her eye.

"As soon as possible," Gray said, straightening his back. "The sooner the better. We need a sheriff, and the ordinary election day is coming up-"

"Fine," Johnston said, his first words since jumping down Eric's throat. "Three days from now is the traditional voting day for town offices. Who else wants to be added to the list? Dogcatcher?"

Snickers ran through the crowd, several of them poorly disguised as coughs.

Gray pinched his lips shut at the concerted glare of the entire council and most of the audience. He had said enough here and now. He'd have to really start campaigning after the meeting.

"We'll have a simple ballot. Checkboxes and names with the office title above them. It'll be small and run off on the copier, since we can't order the official ones from the printer." Johnston stifled a sigh and looked at the group. "Any other suggestions?"

"A write-in line, in case someone wants to pitch in another person for an office. Or if they think we need a new office for…hell, I don't know, dogcatcher?" A young woman in the crowd added this in. She was a teacher in the middle grades section of the school. "Oh, and let the little kids count the vote by piling the ballots in one basket or another. That way no one can demand a recount for spurious reasons."

"Cut apart the ballots so they're easier to sort-sheriff votes in one set of baskets, mayor in another set." This from an elementary teacher who knew that confusion would result otherwise. "Or separate the two, and put them on different colours of paper. If we're going to use the same box, it'll keep the kids moving in the right direction." She was already organizing the councilroom and figuring out how to get the kids exactly right for this chore. The youngest ones would sort, with an easy graphic on the top or bottom to keep them putting everything in the correct baskets. The older ones would count and batch the ballots in groups of twenty…yes…that could work…

"Post a list of people who will not take office, no matter how many votes for them are counted," from Titus, since he did not want to be dragooned into office. He'd managed to stay as an adviser for years, and the council was as close to the other as he wanted to get. If Jonah could be shanghaied as sheriff, who knows what they'd invent for Titus Andronicus Clarind! His sister-in-law, Maddie, however, was a different story. He might just attach her name to a ballot himself, just to watch her squeal. No, better not. His wife hated it when he irritated Sister for no reason other than entertainment.

"Good ideas - what say?" Johnston turned to the council. A simple hand vote showed the majority believed this suggestion worthwhile. Bethanne, Johnston's secretary and the council minutes-keeper, jotted those notes down.

"Voting age," Skylar piped up. "How will that be determined? By a number or place in town? By an assigned value or a full day's work?"

Titus sat back in his chair. "Now that one is a more difficult question," he mused. "Granted, most of the teens are still taking lessons in the morning, but from age fifteen on, they're allowed in the Rangers, they work full days after lunch, and they contribute to the survival of the town."

"But can we assign a value to the work or the hours?" The young lawyer had no small concern about this.

"What about minors without parents here? Or who are in charge of property? Do they get more consideration?" Eric's question, knowing of three separate cases of exactly that.

"What is minor? This is a hard land, despite the good soil. Can we discount a segment of the population that's working to survive just as much as we are?" From Laureanna St. Xavier.

"What if they're scared of voting for the wrong person? I had that problem the first elections I voted in. I know it was a while back," Emily said from the crowd, "and it wasn't local, but I'll admit it. I only filled out half the ballot. It's a frightening thought, to know that you're making a decision that will affect everybody around you, and even more, for state and national elections."

"Good points," Avery Miller said, putting a pause in the discussion. "How's this - if the teen is working a full hand's load at whatever position inside Jericho limits, if they're interested in voting, and if they're comfortable in voting, we let them go ahead." His eyes were shadowed as he added his last thought. "If they're old enough to die in defense of this town, they're old enough to have a say in who's going to send them out, God forbid that day comes."

"Amen," rippled the reply through the room. It was a heartfelt prayer from every parent there, and one young teen girl.

"This one will be a called vote," Johnston said, "Please respond yea or nay and give a concise reason for your vote. Beginning with Jenny Tyral. Miss Tyral, on the question of the voting age, yea or nay, should the teenagers working full-time, who are interested in and comfortable with the idea, be allowed to vote in our elections?"

"Nay." She looked around, her brow furrowed. "There are many decisions that are by nature far-reaching, and I don't believe the teens, however earnest, have the experience to make a farsighted decision."

"So noted," Bethanne was writing furiously in shorthand while Johnston continued down the line. "Avery Miller."

"Yea." His lips twitched in an unhappy smile. "If they're old enough to fight, they're old enough to say who they fight for. The other way…doesn't work."

"So noted. May White."

"Yea. These teens have learned much more about planning for the future. I believe they will weigh their choices and make an informed decision about their leaders."

"So noted. Laureanna St. Xavier."

"Nay. Hard work and strong backs do not mean fully-developed minds, nor the ability to judge through experience. No matter how careful and cautious, the teenagers are still apt to make poor decisions through emotional appeal of one over another." She gave a wry smile. "Then again, so are many adults."

"So noted…"

The final tally was 7 against, 13 for, and the measure passed. Skylar's satisfied grin made Jonah's eyes narrow. The brat was up to something. What?

After a few more minor things, including the availability of the list of goods from Rogue River, one last motion was brought up.

"I know the library's one of the biggest buildings in Jericho," the head librarian said, her voice more than exhausted, "but we're flat out of room and we have three warehouses worth of books still to sort! We have books from the trainwrecks still in storage, uncatalogued. We need help and we need space. Please! We can keep the oldest books at the library, but where can we put the rest?"

The woman was nearly in tears. Three weeks and she and her tiny staff of two had hardly made a dent in the progress. Not to mention the chronic check-outs and reshelving that had to be done since classes and personal research were both done at the library. The computers hadn't survived, but the programs and the new scanners they'd found in the trainwreck had - if they could just get the software and new computers set to take some of the load - or a small army to help them…

"I am so sorry, Yolanda," Johnston said, truly feeling guilty about neglecting one of his favourite buildings and its denizens. "We could use some of the empty storefronts - if there are any left?"

"There's the old SuperMart building that went bust in the seventies," Reynold Cale said, remembering his father complaining about the place opening to begin with, "but the building's in bad shape overall. Needs some serious renovation."

"How bad?" Reynold would know. He was the building inspector for the town.

"Bad enough that we'll have to gut it and clean every shelf in there before I go in to check structural integrity. We'll need to remove the drop-ceiling, since the roof's had some leaks over the years. Hell, it'd be easier to condemn the damned thing and start over."

"Mm. Maybe after we get settled back into a routine again. We're a bit behind in the chores, overall," this from Eric, surprisingly enough. "There are a few empty houses, not far from major centers. Maybe separation by category for the nonfiction? Texts about plants and vegetables and herbology near the greenhouses, texts about animal husbandry and hunting out near the farms, and so on? It would categorize by group, yes, and make some texts less central, but the kids who are researching the more basic elements of their practicals aren't going to be leaving immediately after lunch anyway. That group is working on small-practicals in the computer room and the children's library & reading rooms. And we can duplicate, if we have enough of any particular book."

"Very true. Eric, you and Ms. Yolanda go over all of this information, needs, wants, but try to keep speculation to a minimum." Johnston thought quickly. "With your knowledge base and hers together, you'll make it quick work. Miss Maddie, if you and Dr. Jenner would help, I think things would go even faster."

"Not a problem, Johnston," Miss Maddie said, one of the few who used his given name on a regular basis. Then again, she never could quite bring herself to call him Mayor Green. That would always be his daddy, to her.

"Well, if that's all," Johnston looked around. No one spoke up, everyone looked tired and thoughtful. "This meeting stands adjourned. Thank you for coming everyone, and for your suggestions and comments." He did not look at Gray when he said it. He did give Jonah a dirty look and Jonah just grinned back at him.

Gray watched that look with interest. Maybe Johnston was finally going to listen to him and do something about Jonah Prowse. What Gray didn't know was that Johnston was certainly planning to do something, just not what Gray wanted. Meanwhile, Gray did have a mine to look over, too. He'd get back on that, right after he was elected mayor of this poor town.

J*****+++++*****J

After three days of serious campaigning, Gray Anderson had large crowds gathering at his impromptu speeches. What he did not know, what no one let him know, was that his speeches were the subject of much hilarity at night, regaling those who hadn't been so fortunate to listen to him.

Now, no one thought Gray was really a bad man, or a fool; however he was not known for being levelheaded in crisis, as several of the miners attested to. That Skylar girl was, and if levelheaded had a name, it'd be Johnston Green. That much was bandied about by the miners, who were careful not to let Gray hear them. They would have enough to do when it came time to defend their cutest boss, the Stevens girl.

When the voting was finished, something that was done early in the morning and no one minded that the polls opened before daybreak, almost everyone of age to vote by the new ruling of the council did. The number of ballots sorted by the children that day was unexpectedly large. Then, the numbers came in.

In the past, a running tally for the mayor's position was kept on the boards. This time, it was updated once per hour, as the children ran to and fro with their lockboxes of votes to sort and count. In order to ensure one vote per person, each hand was stamped with a big smiley face, courtesy of an adorable little girl with a snaggletooth smile. It was one of the most ingenious ideas the elementary teachers had. What's more, it made everyone smile as they left the ballot boxes.

Jimmy's daughter was much like her father in one respect - she could always send someone away with a huge smile and a warm feeling. Jimmy wasn't much of a cop, but he was a lovable, sweet man who truly wanted people to do what was right and to be safe. For this reason, even when he gave people tickets, they couldn't help but smile. He was so earnest. So was his daughter, Katie, who was stamping hands and even giving hugs to voters. More than one person commented that it was the most pleasant way to end a vote they'd ever experienced.

J*J*J*J*J*J

When the final batch of ballots was counted at 7:39 p.m. on November 10, 2006, it was official. The mayor of Jericho was Johnston Green, by nearly 5,000 votes. 5, 397 people had voted for the mayor. Gray was flabbergasted. He couldn't understand it. And Johnston hadn't been out there.

The sheriff's position hadn't been included on the tally, since there wasn't enough room to get the numbers big enough for passersby to see and cram that many names on the board, so Gray honestly hadn't known who won the sheriff's position, or even who had been running. As incumbent and challenger, or in case of the sheriff, candidates, the men who were in the running for the offices did not vote, since there was no use in voting for themselves. They had the option, however, of voting for sheriff. Johnston chose to do so, and voted for Jonah. Gray chose not to, seeing as his ambitions were all focused on running the town the way it should be run.

Under the mayor's name, the sheriff's name was printed. The board read:

Mayor of Jericho: Johnston Jacob Green (4, 871 : 526)

Sheriff of Jericho: Jonah Prowse (3,516 : 1,085 : 797)

Gray Anderson's jaw dropped as he read the board. His mouth moved soundlessly. He turned to see Jonah looking at the board.

"Johnston, you damned…" the commentary was drowned out by the applause of those who had turned out to see the results.

"Been a long time since we've had a Green as mayor and a Prowse as sheriff," Laureanna commented to Titus.

"Mm-hmm. Last time was near seventy years ago. Jonah's granddaddy and Johnston's granddaddy, during the War. 'Course, if I recollect, the first sheriff Jericho had was also a Prowse. First one in the county, too."

"That's right," Laureanna said, chuckling. "I'd forgotten that. Gunslinger, wasn't he? On the run?"

"Yep. Cleaned out a nasty little group of rustlers, too, that had targeted more than one ranch. Kept the cowboys calm, too, when they came to town. Little loose on the morality laws, but Jericho never became another Dodge City."

"Amen, and we weren't that much different in the beginning. Had cattle drives through here, too. Lots of money runnin' in…and out again." The gentle alto laughter came again. "The whorehouse did well."

"You still got those books and diaries?" Titus asked, glancing at his old friend.

"Of course," Laureanna smiled. "They're an excellent reference for the young women who come to see me. I may be a midwife and herbalist, but I am also the unofficial madame and Dr. Ruth of the town." She gave him a wicked look. "Speaking of which, how is-"

"Oh, look," Titus said, "there's Sister. Looks like she's ready to leave. I'll see you later, Laure-belle." His hasty retreat was made to the rhythm of Laureanna's laughter.

Dr. Magdeline Julia Halley Clarind was in deep discussion with Jonah and Johnston about the security issue and the executions that could now be taken care of. Titus simply walked up and stood there, listening.

"So, who is on your list to interview, Jonah?" Maddie asked.

"Only about six people. The others ring true, or we brought them in knowing who and what they were. Four of those six happen to be in the same house." Jonah shook his head at Maddie's look. "No, Miss Maddie. I'm not going into it now. And we need some more deputies. I have the power to appoint my deputies, right? I'll start tomorrow."

"Be here early," Johnston said, grinning unrepentantly at Jonah's new position. "Swearing-in starts at eight. I'll go first, you're next."

"Good. I'll appoint my deputies then. Jimmy and Bill will remain my full-timers, but the others will be available and responsible for enforcing the laws elsewhere." He pursed his lips. "Speech is required, isn't it?"

"Sure is." Johnston was positively gleeful. He couldn't wait to get the first joke in place.

"Fine." He looked at the three before him and started to say something. "You know…Never mind. You'll hear it all tomorrow." He smiled at them, far too pleasantly for their comfort. "See you tomorrow." Jonah turned and began walking.

"Wear a suit!" Johnston called after him.

"Don't own one!" Jonah called back over his shoulder.

"You think we'll get him in a uniform?" Johnston asked, glancing at Miss Maddie and Titus.

"Not a chance, honey," Miss Maddie said, shaking her head. "Not a chance.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	27. The Days After: 43

**On a Dark Horse -28**

**Timeline:** Bombs + 43

**A/N:** Ah, liberties…I take them with Gray, law, and, well, so far almost everything. :-)

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

"I cannot believe this!" Gray fumed silently as he watched Johnston sworn in yet again as mayor. Being out in the crowd, somewhere Gray hated to be as he considered himself a leader, he was wise enough not to say such a thing aloud. Death by mob violence was not high on his list of things to experience.

"…So help me God." Those last words were followed by a loud cheer from the gathered citizens of Jericho. Pretty much everyone who had voted turned out to watch Johnston take the oath of office again, even though that hadn't been the case in the past. They were there as much to see Johnston as they were to see Jonah. Actually, they were far more interested in seeing Jonah sworn in. For now, though, they quieted and waited for Johnston to make his speech. Thankfully, he generally spoke to the point, without unnecessary prose cluttering his points.

"You've heard me say it before, so I don't need to say it now," he said, a tiny smile twitching his beard and mustache. "When the bombs went off, I worried about you, for you, for what could happen. Now, I'm still worried, but not about Jericho. We've done something our ancestors would be proud of. We've pulled together and made this town a place that will survive, just like they did in the 1830s when the first five families settled here and created a tiny cowtown. Later, when the farmers came, we were one of the few places that escaped range wars, thanks to the wisdom of the people who lived here then. Now, after the most horrible mass murder known to human history, we've done it again. What's more, we've brought in two neighboring towns, Hayes and New Bern, as allies. We've laid a working telegraph line to both towns, we've shared supplies and labor - teens from New Bern are coming here in sets of thirty to find their place back home in this new world. This isn't the Kansas we knew, but this is still our home. We are still in America. And we can pull our home back together, one town at a time. Thank you for trusting me to continue with that job. Hope I don't disappoint you."

Again, a loud cheer. Johnston's speeches were always good. They were always under two minutes in length and never more than 20 lines, handwritten.

Johnston held up his hands for quiet, and motioned for Jonah to come up the steps of town hall to stand beside him.

"Now for what I know you really want to see," he grinned outright at the crowd, "and something I can't wait to do. It's time to swear in our new sheriff, Jonah Prowse, and here - Jonah, what in hell are you wearing?"

The man named so gleefully was wearing his good jeans, boots, black t-shirt, and black leather jacket. His sunglasses were firmly in place, and on his hip was a .45 automatic.

"We can always not do this," he replied, his low, hopeful comment drawing snickers from the crowd.

"You are not getting out of this that easily, Prowse," Johnston growled back. "Hand it over, Jimmy." Johnston was referring to the badge and _Bible_. Jimmy handed over a .38 Special, which earned him a dirty look from Johnston. "I swear, the two of you would turn a visit from the Pope into a comedy of errors. The _Bible_, Jimmy. And the badge."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Mayor Green." Jimmy blushed, returned the .38 to its customary place, and stepped back, hoping not too many people had noticed his blunder. Unfortunately Johnston's voice carried very, very well in the hushed November morning. People tried very hard not to laugh as Jimmy returned to his place with Bill, who looked like he wasn't entirely sure that this was really about to happen. Johnston decided to just jump straight into the ceremony without allowing any more opportunity for screw-ups.

Johnston held the _Bible_, the badge of sheriff balanced carefully in the center of the cover, for Jonah to placed his hand over the badge, fingertips and heel of his palm resting on the Good Book. Jonah complied and didn't even flash a wicked grin to his old and recently rediscovered friend as he did as was expected. He did not, however, remove his sunglasses.

"Jonah Enoch Prowse, you have been elected as Sheriff of Jericho by the people of Jericho Township. Will you execute the duties of sheriff to the best of your ability, regardless of personal preferences?" Johnston asked the question in his public-announcement voice, one he'd learned as a sergeant and carried well in most conditions.

"I will." The low, calm reply carried because Jonah was careful to speak more loudly than usual.

"Will you enforce the laws of Kansas, of Tybee County, and of Jericho Township to the best of your ability?"

"I will."

"Will you observe the rights and privileges of the people of Kansas, Tybee County, and Jericho, taking care not to violate those rights and privileges?"

"I will."

"Will you abide by the rules of evidence and evidentiary collection in the course of your duties, as put forth by federal, state, and local laws?"

"I will."

"Will you render aid and succor to those in need, justice when you are called, and use discretion and understanding when occasion merits them?"

"I will."

"Should there be need, will you work with those from outside of Jericho in order to pursue suspects, coordinate responses, and create a safehaven for the citizens of our town and those around us?"

"I shall."

"Will you use the power of your command to bring peace and tranquility to our town, to uphold the law, and to ensure your deputies do the same?"

"I will."

"Do you accept in full all of the duties of sheriff, with all of the rights and responsibilities appertaining thereto, including incarceration and execution of criminals duly convicted by a jury of their peers?"

"I do."

"Repeat after me. I, state your name," Johnston said, eyes narrowing at the sudden gleam in Jonah's.

"I," Jonah said pausing for a split-second, watching as Johnston nearly growled at him, "Jonah Enoch Prowse…"

"…do accept and acknowledge my duties as Sheriff of Jericho, Kansas."

"…do accept and acknowledge my duties as Sheriff of Jericho, Kansas."

"I shall fulfill my duties to the best of my ability…"

"I shall fulfill my duties to the best of my ability…"

"…keeping always in mind the rights of those whom I protect and serve…"

"…keeping always in mind the rights of those whom I protect and serve…"

"…preserving their rights and safety through upholding the law…"

"…preserving their rights and safety through upholding the law…"

"…pursuing truth and justice for those who cannot fight for themselves…"

"…pursuing truth and justice for those who cannot fight for themselves…"

"…even unto my demise." Johnston's voice and eyes had become more solemn than usual. What he was asking, demanding, of Jonah was no less than what the man had already done.

"…even unto my demise, so help me God." Jonah's final words were soft, almost a whisper. Somehow, the wind carried that whisper to the edges of the crowd.

The people of Jericho were stunned. This was not the oath that Reilley had taken during his time as sheriff. This was something completely different.

Jonah removed his hand from the _Bible_, waiting for Aylah, whom he had asked to pin the badge to his leather jacket, to complete her part of the program. Aylah took the badge from him, looking at the eight-point star. It was an older badge than Reilley had worn, which had had a six-point star. She glanced up at Jonah, who mouthed, "Later." She couldn't smile as she pinned the badge carefully to his jacket. The old gold gleamed brightly against the leather. She placed her hand over the badge, looked into his eyes, and then, just as the crowd was coming out of their shock, kissed Jonah gently on the lips.

The crowd returned to their stupor when Jonah lifted his hand to her cheek and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, their eyes drinking in the exchange and sparking much speculation. Finally, she stepped back, letting Jonah turn and address the crowd, which was still silent.

"Either you're in shock that I actually took the job or you're wondering what the hell's going on," Jonah said, his usual devilish bluntness prompting his opening line. Johnston had wanted him to write his speech so it could be vetted and proofed, but Jonah was having none of it. He was doing what he did best - winging it. "I'm betting on both. The oath was a new one for you, but it's a combination of the one Reilley took all these years and the first one that Elijah Prowse made when he became the first sheriff of Jericho, some hundred and fifty years ago. The reasons for the changes are simple, we have to handle things in-house now. We can't send off to the county seat for a judge, more officers, or whatever. We've returned to the frontier days in more than ways than the obvious, including the dangers outside of town. We've heard about several of those dangers, you know about the newcomers, and so far everything has remained relatively stable. You all know me, or know of me. What you don't know is that I'd like the situation here to stay stable and safe, like it has been. As it is, we're shorthanded and I'll be appointing deputies soon enough. There's still a lot to do to make sure we get through the winter and well into spring, and we've all got work to do outside of our jobs to make that happen. To that end, there are some things I won't be enforcing.

"Fighting, public drunkenness, walking across each other's yards, leash laws, and other things like that, aren't high on my list of concerns. You're adults. Act like it. Take care of things yourself, and for God's sake be reasonable. We've got a good number of people, a lot of work, and no time for bullshit. You know this. In fact," he glanced at his watch, "most of you are late already." This sparked a chuckle from the crowd, who knew good and well that no one was really keeping track of minutes, so long as the hours were put in and the work was done. "Whether we like it or not, we're in this together. It's working so far. Let's try not to screw it up." With that, he waited.

Finally, applause began. Once it started, the cheering lasted for an unusually long time, even by Jericho's standards. Jonah shook his head and shot Johnston a grin as he stood there, the first Green-Prowse team in place since the 1930s. They were headed for interesting times.

Gray Anderson stood in the crowd and shook his head. Johnston did something about Jonah all right. He put the rabid wolf in charge of the chicken coop. All he could do now is wait for this grand idea that these people went along with to blow up in their collective faces. At least he still had the mine. Who knew what had happened out there with Shep Cale and himself gone for so long. Probably in complete chaos, since Carmichael was such a pushover.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Inside the sheriff's office, Jonah sat down at his new desk. It was bigger than the one he was used to, especially with the computer gone. What was the point in having a computer when the databases the sheriff had contacted in Rogue River and Topeka were no longer in existence? Reilley hadn't been a typist, and everyone knew better than to expect Jonah to hammer away at a keyboard. He'd write or dictate and one of the assistants, deputies in training now, would do the typing.

Looking around, he leaned back in the chair. Comfy. Aylah followed him into the office, examining his new domain.

"Nice," she said, motioning to the décor. "Bit rustic for my tastes, but nice."

"Rustic?" Jonah looked over the walls. Well, perhaps the deerhead and the antler gun-rack could be considered rustic.

"I'm being polite." She walked over next to him and traced the star on his shirt. "Can't believe you still had this thing."

"It's Jericho, sweetheart. We don't throw anything away that might be useful later." Jonah laughed. "Besides, I was planning on giving this to Chris when he graduated from college, the way my father gave it to me when I came back from the Army. I didn't appreciate the irony of it then, but all he said was 'Never known when you'll need a star.'" Jonah shook his head. "I hated it when he was right."

"Guess he was right a lot, then," she said, sliding her hand to his cheek. "You regret taking this on?"

Jonah thought for a long minute. "No. May sound funny, but this feels right. Like something I should've done years ago, but who'd take a sheriff with a record?"

"I know a girl…" Aylah began, grinning down at him.

Jonah grinned back at her, propped his feet on his desk, and promptly fell to the floor as his chair separated into three pieces and collapsed.

"That thrice-damned son-of-a-" he cursed, dragging himself from the wreckage of his chair. "JOHNSTON!" Jonah bellowed, storming out of his office and up the stairs to the mayor's office.

Back inside the office, Aylah was laughing so hard she couldn't stand. She wasn't about to tell him that she'd seen Jake sneaking out of the sheriff's office yesterday with a screwdriver, or that she'd fixed the chair a few hours later, after Jake had pranked it. It must have been Johnston after all. But how had he managed to find the time?

J*J*J*J*J*J

Across town, outside the township and into the countryside that belonged to Jericho, Gray Anderson was watching a slip of a girl as she addressed the mining supervisors. He stepped into the room and listened.

"We have more than enough salt for human consumption mined, most of it still needs refining. How is production on that end, Mr. Tyler?"

"Six tons a day at the current rate. We're having to do more by hand now, but it's going well. The vats have been partially loaded and the men are exhausted by the time we're done each day. Miss Stevens, I wanted to see if we can get a second afternoon break, let us stretch out and prepare to handle the rest of the day's load. That last batch is a…witch."

"I'm familiar with the term," Skylar said, giving the man a wry smile. "So long as the last load is done, I'm not going to be picky about the breaks so long as the work gets done in a reasonable time. You and your crew handle yourselves well and work hard, so I don't see a problem with it. Will you be able to finish in time to get home in time for dinner? Without causing difficulties on the homefront?"

"If anything, we'll finish a little earlier, which will give us time to get everything prepped for the next day. I won't put a promise to it, but I think we'll manage to improve production by a fraction."

"Then make it happen," she glanced down at her agenda. "Mr. Blakely, you're handling the mineral by-products purification and separation. What have we got so far?"

"Well, we've got varying amounts of a few alkaline salts, the less volatile ones, a smattering of tungsten, which we've probably got more of in the dumping yard, and the most useful element we've isolated is bauxite. If we get the process just right, we can start putting out some aluminum. Not much, mind, since the bauxite is part of the throw-away we've ignored for years, but some. Enough for Jericho to keep in foil, probably."

"Bauxite?" Skylar blinked. "And we've ignored it for years?"

"Decades. Probably longer."

Skylar shook her head. "We need to expand your section, Mr. Blakely. I'll speak with Dr. Jenner about gathering up a group of chem students and to the smith as well. If anyone would like to find out more about what we can tease out of our dirt, he would." She paused. "Doesn't bauxite usually have some iron or nickel in it?"

"Usually, but trace amounts." Blakely was being cautious.

"Trace amounts add up. With the mountains of unusuable material we've shunted aside over the years, who knows?" Skylar made a note on her clipboard. "Keep doing what you're doing and I'll get Jenner out here soon, maybe even this afternoon, after he works with the kids. Okay, so we're to Mr. Jenkins and the industrial salts."

"Good production, good purity right now. We've got plenty of the salts for different uses, including the cleansers Mary Bailey and Davey are using right now. And Bonnie Richmond wanted to know if we can come up with a scrub for her equipment that won't scour the metal too badly. I told her we could refine some of the salts down for her, make them less like a harsh abrasive and more like a soft scrub. We've only got so many cleaning products, so that got me thinking about general use salts, not industrial."

"How much would it take to supply Bonnie and the town with a softer scrub?"

"About three tons. The process time takes longer, but it will be worth it if we can spare that many cleansers from before. Use those in times of most need."

"All right, run with it. How many people will it take from your section?"

"About three, for the beginning. Once the process starts, one person can monitor it. It'll take one of the breakers several days though, so it won't be available for the rest of the crews."

"We can work around it, if it works." She jotted down another note and turned to the last man. "Mr. Haley, how are the medicinals coming along?"

"Beautifully. We've got twelve tons of Epsom salts prepared, and we've moved on to the saline that's used in the med center for drips. There are six others that we're working on, but those are more for Laureanna's use and students than anything. Gracie Lee already asked called about another barrel of Epsoms for her store. Didn't quote her a price, though, seein' as how the prices have changed somm'at. Figured you'd want to discuss it with her today, Miss Stevens."

"Thank you, and I will do just that." She looked up and smiled at the group. "That's all I had for this week. Payday is on Friday, as always. Please send medical bills to us here in the office-speaking of which, how is Mr. Mason?"

"Doin' a lot better. His cold's about gone and he's getting downright ornery, according to the missus."

"Then let him come back and help train the three new people in the loading zone. I figure that'll keep them both happy and keep him from exerting himself so much he'll relapse." She looked around. "Mr. Carmichael, is there anything I need to know about the equipment or the shafts?"

"Ventilator's going bad in Green 2, section e. Not puttin' anyone in that shaft without a repair." Carmichael paused. "We've been nursing that damned thing for the past three years. Shep was irritated with it, but…" he trailed off, shrugging. No one needed to say it: Gray thought replacing it was too expensive.

"I'll call down to the shop, then. If it's that bad, then we are not going to just go along with another quick-fix. It may take a few days, and that's…refined table-salt area, right?"

"Good old sodium-chloride, almost pure." Blakely was pleased that she was so attentive to the shafts.

"No loss, then. We're backing off mining there for a bit anyway. We'll pick back up if we manage to get in touch with some other towns." She thought for a minute. "Mr. Haley, how's the strut that was giving everyone a fit in Blue 7, section a? Was it replaced or repaired?

"Repaired. We shored it up on each side and in front with the steel beams from the school auditorium. Made a trade with the board, some help with labor for the beams. It works out for us all."

"Good. All righty, then. We're through for the day. If there are any problems or concerns that Mr. Carmichael can't answer immediately, or something that needs research, remember my door is open and you have my number at home." Skylar smiled and stood, the men standing a second later. "Have a good week!"

"We will, Miss Stevens," drawled Patrick Jenkins. "Boys'll be askin' if you plan to take your tour this week."

"Absolutely. Thursday afternoon." She grinned. "Remind them they don't have to scrub the floors or hang curtains for me."

The men, many of them older than her father, chuckled as they walked out. Yes, she was something of a princess in those skirts, but she was a good girl. Smart, funny, and savvy. More than that, she cared about them, their work, their work environment, and their families. Never nosed in, but made sure that what was needed got done. From a cute little thing to a popular girl in school with more looks than smarts, or so they'd heard from their younger relatives, she'd turned out to be a good one. A lady, for all that she worked in the mining business. Better yet, she was willing to learn their jobs, had been doing so over the years, though they'd learned years ago never to let her near a machine with any sort of tools.

Gray stepped aside, unseen by the men who were taking the exit closest to the mine entry. Lips tight and eyes angry, he closed the door behind him.

"May I help - Oh. Gray." Skylar's expression turned from pleasantly helpful to closed and expressionless.

Good. The little brat knew she was in trouble.

"Impressive. Did you write that script, or did Carmichael do it for you?" It was a nasty beginning, but Gray wasn't exactly in a rational mood.

"What?" Skylar stared at him, amazed at the attack. She was doing a damned good job! The mine was doing more and better with less than it had had for years!

"Oh, please. I've known you for five years, Skylar. You don't have anything to do with the mine. You've been busy being daddy's princess and spending his money. When did you learn the difference between alkaline salts and mineral by-products? I cannot believe you're here, playing the boss, while your parents-"

"My parents were in New York. New York survived," she began, anger making her pale. "And I've known the products of these shafts since I was old enough to talk. There are reasons we limit the production of pure alkaline metals, their reactivity is the main one. And where do you get off walking in here to criticize the work I've done in adjusting to the current situation? Do you know what a dollar is worth here and now?"

"Practically nothing-"

"One dollar, here, will buy a gallon of milk and six eggs. Why? We have a large dairy and a chicken farm. Two dollars will purchase a turkey, live. Four will purchase the prepared turkey, separated and wrapped in clean cloth - cloth because we don't have enough butcher's paper to make it an expendable commodity. Refrigeration is available to those houses with electricity. Every street has at least one house where they stored their refrigerators and use it as a collective refrigeration and appliance house. It's something like the neighbourhood spring-house that we can't build here because we don't have the materials." Skylar was extremely upset. "Furthermore, we have kept the economy running between here and Hayes, and now we've added New Bern. We're working on a trade with them, supplies for supplies first. Have you bothered to find any of this out? No, I can see you haven't." She shook her head, thoroughly disgusted. "I have work to do, Mr. Anderson. You may see yourself out. When you do, I suggest you stop to speak with Mr. Carmichael about the way things are being run now. In town and in my mine."

Gray Anderson had never been so angry with a child in his life. Instead of speaking or strangling the brat, he turned on his heel and stalked out the back door to see Thomas Carmichael.

Little girl thought she could run the mine? Probably didn't know how to record debits and credits, much less figure payroll.

As soon as the door slammed behind Gray, Skylar picked up the telephone and called Johnston.

"Mayor Green, please, Miss Bethanne. It's Skylar. Sure, I'll hold." She waited for a minute before the mayor picked up. "Mayor Green, I'm at the mine, and guess who just came in... Right in one - and he is pissed… No I will not watch my language, since that is the most accurate description of his state of mind. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that he'll probably be up there yelling in your office in about two hours…. Well, I sort of told him off and sent him out to see Carmichael. He actually did. They're talking now, well more like Gray's pacing and Carmichael's listening. At this rate, you probably have until lunch…. Yes, I know I'm supposed to be in lessons, but Mondays are my flex day. Training with MSgt. Clarind at six, at the office by eight-thirty, meeting over by nine, and then the week's business calls. After that, lunch and a review of the books…. I know, but I get it all done. It's not like I've got the busiest schedule here. I've heard stories about the hours you've pulled lately…. Okay, I'll make sure he doesn't come back in here without Carmichael…. Sure, I'll go down to your office for lunch. Will Jonah be there?... Okay - would you like me to bring lunch with me? I pass Davey's and Bailey's…. Boysenberry and cherry pie from Nettie's Bakery, strawberry cobbler for Bethanne…. And coffee from Tater's, just for Jonah…. See you then! 'Bye."

J*J*J*J*J*J

Outside, work didn't stop, but Gray's voice carried clearly as he ranted in Carmichael's general direction. Occasionally, Thomas would try to interject something calming and rational, but Gray was having none of it. The miners and supervisors just gave each other disgusted looks. Things were so much quieter without Gray.

Finally, after Carmichael explained what had been going on, Gray walked over to one of the groups.

"Shut this down and go back to the plan you were on. We need the refined salt for trade-"

"Sorry, Mr. Anderson," Blakely said, watching as his men started adding the reagent to the vat. "Can't do that. Miss Stevens has a new plan mapped out, and these by-products have been more than useful already. Got six different medicines that use the most common products we put out." Blakely stepped away from the irate man and helped loosen the arm of the mixer. Once it had run on diesel, but they'd rigged a hand-crank for it that let the men walk around it. The first run was always stiff, but once it started, it moved easily with just two. The others dipped out the precipitates and filtered out impurities using a fine silk cloth and distilled water. So far, production was good.

Gray, now livid, stalked over to the next section. The result there was much the same. No one was listening to him, instead choosing to obey a sixteen-year-old prom queen! From the humiliation of the election to the disobedience of the miners he employed - the last thing to do was close the mine.

"Close it down, Carmichael," he snarled at the third partner.

"I can't Gray," Carmichael said, his voice betraying his impatience. "Skylar owns the mine, the raw products, and the contracts of the miners. She's got 52% of the say about what happens to the end products, too."

"Skylar doesn't own anything. Her parents do." Gray was sick of this. How could a minor have a mine? No pun intended, but it was ludicrous.

"If you don't like it, talk to the mayor. I'm sure he'd be happy to hear from you. Hell, if you're that upset," Carmichael added, knowing he was being cruel, "add in the sheriff. If she's doing something illegal, I'm sure he needs to know it."

"Damn right he does." Gray looked at his watch. Three-and-a-half hours! Wasted on this…this…farce! It was time to get this done right. Johnston may not like him, but he had to listen to this.

"Ms. Lee, it's Skylar. I'm calling about that Epsom order you wanted. I understand you want a full barrel, that's 150 lbs.?" Skylar listened, then got the revised order. "Three barrels, 450 lbs. We do have that available. It's $.25 per pound, so that will come to…$113.00 even." Gracie asked a question. "Suggested resale value? No more than $.30 per pound. That's a small profit, but it's not like we're paying rent or mortgages right now, right? And electricity isn't billed. Neither is water." Skylar laughed. "I know. And the table salt remains the same-50 lb. bags are $5.00 each. Do you have the bags for the breakdown? Okay, I'll include those," another small change she had made - bags and small containers for Gracie's market that were safe for the storage of various salts were now available from her, courtesy of the miner's wives. "They're $.25 each, $.68 for a set. The set? Oh, it's got one of each type of bag, a medicinal, an Epsom, and a table salt bag, each that will hold 3 lbs maximum, all with embroidered labelling. They're available individually by type, or by sets of 3 bags each, unless you buy a bulk of 100 sets, in which case they're $60.00." Skylar made a note. "Sure they can be reused. And one of the girls at the house has started working with the artisans. She's a journeyman-ranked glassmaker. If you talk to her, I'm sure she can work out a deal with you. Her number? Just call the smith. I think his extension is 3587." She listened for a few more minutes. "All right. Just have Dale drop by after his deliveries this way and we'll get you loaded up - Oh, you need it earlier? I'm heading to town for lunch today, so I'll bring one of the trucks." She laughed. "I promise I won't run into anything. Oh, tell Mrs. Green that I'll be brining in the clinic's weekly order and Miss Laureanna's order, too. Thanks Ms. Lee! I'll see you in about two hours."

Skylar marked down the list and lifted the radio for the loading dock. "SAM-7, this is SAM. Come in."

"SAM-7 here, Sam, go ahead."

"Got an order for Gracie Lee's. Add it to the lunch delivery for the clinic, and our witch doctor, over."

"Copy that. Bill of lading ready, over."

"3 fat doctors, twelve papas, and 300 ladies' maids, over."

"Copy that." There was a pause. "Loading 3 Epsom barrels, twelve table-fifties, and 300 sets of individual carrying bags, Epsom and table salts, over."

"Tags for the ladies' maids, over?"

"Mother Tyler, Widow Tyler, and Miss Anna Jenkins, over."

"Copy that." The notation was made, so these three women would receive compensation for their time sewing the bags. It wasn't much, given the amounts everyone was used to paying for things, but it helped keep their houses running and contributed to the economy. Skylar checked off her list. Gracie's order, done. "Copy that and correct. Epsilon tango on that?" She was asking for estimated time, or ET.

"Give us 45 to pack and load, over."

"Copy that. Ready to roll in 45. SAM out."

"SAM-7 out."

Skylar filled out the bill for Gracie Lee and tucked the pad into her pocket. She'd be heading out there soon enough, and she'd deliver the bill then. Dale would bring out the payment when he dropped off the new medkits from the clinic. Ever since the bombs, she'd been getting closer to Dale. She hoped she was back when he came by. They generally had time for a cup of coffee and a short chat.

Amazing, the changes she'd seen in herself since then. Dale Turner, the guy she was attracted to. Who'd've thought it?

She picked up the phone again and called out to her new home. Funny, Jonah's already felt like home, more than her house did.

"Quaker Transport & Machine, Heather speaking," Heather said, leaving the greeting short and to the point.

"Heather, it's Skylar. I've got a ventilator here at the mine that needs some serious TLC. Is anyone available for that? It's…ummm…" she looked at her list of machines, "mechanical-electrical. I don't know what the problem is, but I do know it's been limping along and may require a complete rebuild."

"Ooh. That's going to be tough. Hang on a sec." Heather put down the phone, the sounds of the distant banging and clanging and whirring and buzzing of the shop a faint sound in the office. "Okay, looks like Leon is free, good hand for mechanics, but trained electrician. I'll send him out with…Tobias and Lisa. Tobias knows the mine systems, even though he can't really work them anymore. Lisa and Leon will do the work, Leon heading. Lisa's got a great basis, just needs to expand a bit more from what she's used to. This will be perfect - even better if she ends up with a complete rebuild."

"Great." Skylar made a note. "When will they be able to come out?"

"They're just monkeying around with a simple crank-and-pop right now…"

"A what?" Mechanics were so confusing.

"A machine that works using a simple crank. Basically you put something in one end and turn the handle. From the other end pops the end result. It could be anything from rebuilding a cast-iron apple-corer to a sausage maker to a glass crusher." Heather shrugged, knowing that Skylar couldn't see her. "That's been shortened to the crank-and-pop designation. It makes it easier to say what type of work can be interrupted."

"Ooookaay," Skylar made a note. "So that means…"

"Give them fifteen minutes and they'll be on your doorstep." Heather grinned, and Skylar could hear it over the phone."

"Hmmphf. Just for that, I won't tell you what chemical compound we've found that could make a mechanic very happy." Skylar teased, knowing that Heather would hear all about it tonight at dinner. Heather, like Jake, had pretty much moved into the bunkhouse. On the other hand, D'Shea had pretty much moved out, so there was room.

"Brat," Heather pouted. "And here I was, thinking about how much you'd like a set of speakers and a working CD player."

"Oh, now you're fighting dirty!" Skylar missed music. Of all the things she missed, she'd never have guessed that music would be so high on the list. Even the classical stuff her parents had tortured her with over dinner. She found herself missing the running violins, the clear, sweet flutes, the brassy trumpets.

"Never argue with a mechanic, kid. We know where it hurts." Heather was smirking. Skylar had turned out to be such a fun kid.

"Yeah, yeah." Skylar laughed and said, "Well, I'll expect them in a few minutes. I've got another call or two to make, but I should be done by the time they get here."

"Hey, Sky," Heather added, looking through the office door and out into the shop. "Leon's still looking a bit long at Lisa. She say anything?"

"Only that he's sexy as the devil himself," Skylar giggled. "I asked her who brought up Jonah and she clobbered me with a pillow. Seriously, though, she's not going to go hopping into bed with him or anything. If he can't handle being patient, she'll walk and never look back, no matter how cute he is."

"Good. I'm not really worried about her, but it's her parents."

"I know. I've heard aaaaall about it," Skylar sighed. "Oh, well. Wouldn't be the first time she disobeyed them, but it would be the first over a male."

"So long as she doesn't get stupid, it's her life." Heather had a pragmatic view of things. "Think it'll be a problem with her working out here?'

"Shouldn't be. Her mom doesn't like it much, but her dad's pretty cool about it. Seems like he's taking some of Jonah's advice, letting her run but only so far. Truth is, we're both thinking long and hard about the whole dating thing. I mean…there's so much else to do. I don't know how you and the others find the time." She paused. "Okay, so that's not true. You wait until really, really late at night."

"Sorry, kid," Heather said, her thoughts half on what Skylar had said about Jonah being sexy. How little the girl knew. "We're trying to keep the noise down, but Jake's just…loud."

Skylar choked. Was she really that oblivious to her own…no. She had to be joking. Had to.

"Right. And I'm living vicariously through y'all, so I really don't need to go mattress dancing myself." She managed not to let her disbelief into her voice.

"That's one way of looking at it," Heather said, encouraging her. If there was a bright side to the whole thing, Skylar had found it.

"Yeah, well, murder's still a crime…" Skylar said innocently.

"Okay, now I'm hanging up," Heather said, laughing. "Seriously. See you tonight."

"Tonight, then. 'Bye!"

Skylar hung up the phone and checked the clock. Good. Just enough time to finish up the first part of the work and meet the crew coming in to fix the ventilator. She'd walk them down, making sure there was an oxygen tank and masks available for them, if they needed it. You never know, in a mine.

J*J*J*J*J*J

At five minutes to twelve, Skylar walked into the mayor's office with two large baskets, one of which held a thermos. She smiled at Bethanne, who promptly opened the door for her. Inside were Jonah, Johnston, and Gray.

"I have no idea what she thinks she's-" Gray stopped as Skylar walked in with lunch.

"What'd I miss?" she asked, putting the baskets on the side table. She lifted out the thermos and walked over to Jonah. "Your favourite, complete with a hint of sugar."

"Did I mention you're a good kid, Sky?" Jonah asked, opening the thermos. He dumped out Johnston's water from his mug and co-opted the vessel for himself. He poured a cup of coffee and promptly burned his tongue with the first drink. It was perfect.

"Not yet today, but you will." She flashed him a grin as she got Johnston a new mug and filled it with water. "Lunch is here, but it'll hold for a bit. Everything was piping hot when I picked it up about five minutes ago."

"Good." Johnston looked over at her and nodded to a chair. "Please take a seat, Sky. Seems we've got a problem on our hands. Gray, why don't you state your case in no more than three short sentences."

"All right. Skylar is a minor, a child. She cannot control the mine or run it. She certainly can't handle the books and needs someone with more experience making these decisions." Gray strove for a reasonable tone. That was three sentences. Damn. He had at least two more, but the way Johnston was looking, it wasn't a time to press. Later.

"Okay. Skylar, your response?"

"I've been working in and around the mine since I was old enough for my father to take me down there. I've learned the business, the same way my father did. I've been running the mine without any problems for the past month - more than that, really." She paused. "Am I limited to three sentences, too?"

"Yes." Johnston pushed back in his chair and nodded. "Okay. I see the problem. Gray says you're too young to do this yourself, you say you know what you're doing. There's a third side that we're touching on, here. Legality." Johnston leaned over and picked up his phone. He dialed six numbers and then spoke. "Get down here to my office, and bring the Stevens file." Then he hung up. "Lawyer's on his way."

"Who is it?" Gray asked, wondering if he was going to be subject to a biased reading.

"Eric." Johnston's reply was short, to the point. Eric and Gray could understand each other, but Eric was turning out to have more steel in him that Johnston had first supposed. 'Course, the boy was running around with Mary Bailey, but apparently April was dealing with it. Gail was getting difficult since that little tidbit came out two days ago, but Gail tended to do that when she thought things weren't going properly. Johnston figured they were both adults and they'd get it settled eventually. Preferably without bloodshed.

"Ah, here he is," Johnston saw the door opening as Eric walked in. Eric, seeing the meeting was one that required sitting, took a seat next to his father, pulling it around from the supplicant's side of the desk.

"Here's the file. Is there a question on the table?" Eric asked, cutting straight to the business at hand.

"Matter of fact there is. Gray wants to run things at the mine, Skylar has actual control. He says she's too young, she says she's got the know-how and the experience. We're looking at the legal side now to determine who's right."

"Neither." Eric said promptly. At Gray's sudden flush from temper and Skylar's raised eyebrows, he continued. "Skylar's guardian and business agent have control over her property and that includes the mine. The agent controls the mine, the guardian ad litem controls the Stevens property, which has recently been turned into a convalescent home for seven people in need of physical and psychological care. The caretakers there are six elderly ladies and gentlemen, two married and two widowed." He looked at Johnston. "Does that resolve the question?"

"Legally, yes." Johnston was about to tell Eric he could go.

"No, it doesn't," Gray said, indignant just as Johnston spoke. When everyone looked at Gray, waiting, he asked, "So who is this guardian ad litem and business agent?"

Skylar looked at Johnston, who nodded.

"Mr. Gray Anderson, I'd like you to meet Mr. Ad Litem," she said, motioning to Jonah, "and Mr. Business Agent." She motioned to Johnston. "Mr. Ad Litem and Mr. Business Agent, I'd like you to meet Mr. Part-Owner-of-End-Products-by-Contract-at-35%."

"Is this a joke?" Gray demanded, pushing up out of his chair. "A joke? Mr. Part Owner of End Products? Mr. Ad Litem?"

"No joke. By their last will and testament, the Stevens named Jonah as Skylar's guardian if they should die or be somehow unavailable for an extended period of time. By the same token, they named my father as her business agent. Something to do with the books," Eric said, glancing at Jonah. It was a quick little dig, but Jonah chuckled.

"Seems I'm more trustworthy with women than paper, which is an odd way of looking at things," Jonah said, shrugging, "but it works for me."

"I cannot believe this. Was this made public?" Gray was shaking his head and pacing now.

"Read in council and related to the rest of the town by the most reliable gossip in Jericho." Johnston confirmed.

Gray closed his eyes. "Gracie Lee."

"Soon as she got wind of it, the whole town knew. Don't know how she found out, though." There was something about Johnston and understood subjects of sentences that Skylar had yet to fully figure out. Granted, it was obvious what he was talking about, but it was sooo not proper English.

"Doesn't matter," Skylar said, shrugging. "What does matter is that this is a legal document naming the people my parents chose to observe and instruct me for the next two years." She looked directly at Johnston and Jonah, who'd walked over to stand near the desk. "Have I done anything stupid or flat-out wrong so far?" she asked them.

"Not yet. But you're still young," Jonah said. He took another sip of coffee. Ahh, caffeine. It was the only thing that made Gray Anderson tolerable, albeit in small doses only.

"Mine's doing better than before, actually," Johnston said, "even though shipping is down because of the bombs. We've gotten two shipments to Hayes and one to New Bern," he glanced at Skylar, who nodded. "And the economy still stands. Money is still used. The miners are getting paid, and they're working harder than before, but every one of them has only had good things to say about Sky and what she's done. Study up, Gray. Find out what's happening." Johnston felt a stab of pity for the man. "I know you've been gone while we've put all of this back together, but you still have a place here, Gray. It's just not the one you thought you had, or the one you had before the bombs. Find your new place." He paused. "Understand you were part of a venture capitalist firm before you came out here?"

"That's right. We did very well," Gray said, as though that made a difference with the mine.

"And we've got some things around here that could use a businessman's touch. Now it may not be the mine, but there's been some serious griping and grumbling about things that aren't they way they were before things changed. Think you could come up with something no one's really thought of? We're running on a new routine right now, but new ideas are trickling in daily."

It was a peace offering, and a graceful way out of this hole Gray had dug for himself. Skylar decided to do something her mother had taught her years ago.

"There are some things we haven't had time to really get started. Like the artisans section. They need some supplies we just don't have readily available. If we can get that information, as well as where we could find or obtain those things, they could use a businessman to help set up the trades. And there are some things in town that aren't exactly organized, like the spinning and textiles section." She looked up at Gray. "It's not a mine or a VC firm, but organization has to be a strong point for you, or you'd never have made it so far in the business world."

Gray nodded, looking at the group. The world had changed, even more drastically than he'd first thought. Maybe his way forward now was going back to what had made him a vice-president at one of the biggest venture capitalist firms in the U.S. so many years ago.

"I can do that," he said, his tone calmer, softer. "I'd still like some say in the mine," he added, "but I'll study the new plans thoroughly first. If nothing else, there may be a way to streamline some of the newer products and methods we're using. And I'll look around town, too." He gave them a crooked smile. "It's been…" he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Yes, it has," Jonah said, finally seeing something in the man to admire. He knew when he was beaten, and he was willing to find a way to do something helpful. "It certainly has."

Skylar looked at Johnston and Jonah and Eric. "You know, I think I'll let you have lunch together here. There's probably more than a few things you need to discuss about the town." She looked up at Gray and took another page from her mother's book. "Mr. Anderson, perhaps we could discuss some of these changes over lunch at Davey's? At the very least, you could find a good starting-point." She even managed to make her tone gracious and calm.

Gray looked at the girl in her long skirts, the hooded wool cloak, and simple clipped-back hair. This was certainly not the spoiled girl he'd met and dealt with for the past five years. She was more of a lady and businessman than he'd ever expected.

"I'd appreciate that, Miss Stevens," he said, returning the careful calm and gentility of the invitation. "Does Davey still require reservations?" He offered her his arm. If this was going to work, the best way to go was high formality.

"Not right now. Noon is his off-hour. Lunch is usually the hour before, for townsmen, or the hour after, for those coming in from outside." She placed her hand lightly on his forearm, and began walking with him to the door. "Since the people coming in for afternoon deliveries and pick-ups are usually loading during the noon hour, they get here a bit later. We'll have a good hour before things start picking up, and by then a few more people will be available to answer your questions."

"Am I to understand you'll be going back to the mine after lunch?" he asked, walking with her through the door to the office.

"I need to. I go over the books every Monday, reconciling any changes due to emergencies that occurred over the weekend and figuring out the balances, inventory, supplies, and needs. That usually takes about three hours, and the current inventories are updated weekly. Its the only way to keep a reliable record of what's in the warehouse…"

Gray listened intently as Skylar outlined the schedule of operations she had established at the mine. She handled office work, the books, and toured the mine weekly to check progress and gather information. Carmichael took care of on-site decisions, but returned the information to her so she could add it to the operations file she kept. When something came up that would cost money or make a huge change, they ran it by her and she made the decision. Gray asked about her schooling, so she included her self-defense and Rangers traning, her research and chemistry/business/medicines training, and information about the new school system.

From the information he gathered over the next hour, Gray was beginning to understand why Johnston had been re-elected, and why Jonah had become sheriff.

No, Jericho wasn't the same sweet little town it had been before. It was more like the town it had been 100 years ago, filled with people strong as boiled leather and steel. Gray understood it was up to him to become one of the people who belonged here or to be ground under their heels as they moved on, doing what needed to be done. He wasn't much for leather, but he was even less for a doormat.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	28. The Days After: 44

**Timeline: ** Bombs + 44

**A/N: **Timeline jumping again. Not by much this time, though. This is 2 chapters combined, and, if I didn't say it before, ignore chapter numbers at the tops of the chapters here on . I sometimes forget to edit those from the original file, which is one giant beast I've been working on breaking up & posting over time. Morpheus is the minor Greek god of sleep, a few other things, too, but mostly recognized for sleep.

**Warning: **Drunken conversations, tales of misspent youth, and various illegal (but generally harmless) activities discussed. Not explicit, but not for kiddies, either.

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

"What aren't you telling me, Gail," Johnston asked after Eric left his office. The tension had been thick enough to chew on as his wife, never known as a passive woman, had ripped a strip out of their oldest son, citing Mary Bailey and Eric's extramarital affair. "And don't try to bluff. You never could and you haven't learned since."

"Johnston, what he's doing to April is-"

"Not that much different from what we did. I recall a time when my mother thought your name was 'the other woman'." He gave Gail a direct look. He didn't need to say anything more.

"It's not the same. You weren't married, and she wasn't pregnant." Gail's pronouncement came firmly. She was not gratified by her husband's reaction.

Johnston let out a breath and leaned back in his chair.

"Does Eric know?" Johnston tipped his head to the side and waited for her answer.

Gail looked faintly guilty. "April made me promise not to tell him." Gail winced inwardly as she watched Johnston's lips purse. He slowly leaned forward in his chair and laid his hands flat on his desktop.

"So…let me get this straight." She hated that tone. It was the one he used when she did something incredibly stupid. "You're mad at Eric for something he knows nothing about."

Gail didn't even nod. She looked guiltier.

"I'll talk to him." Johnston leaned back again, steepling his fingertips under his chin. He didn't look at Gail as she glanced around the room, at the floor, then rose and walked out.

Outside, after she closed his office door, Gail closed her eyes and tried not to let the tears build. In forty years, she could count on one hand the times she'd disappointed and angered Johnston so deeply. She'd be a long, long time making this one up to him. And to Eric. Eventually. How could her son _do_ something like this? She just couldn't understand it.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Later that afternoon, Eric was in his father's office, reviewing some complaints that Jonah's men had reported and the actions that had been taken to resolve the issues. So far, there was really no reason to complain about Jonah's work. Johnston had, the evening before, asked him to come to dinner tonight. It was a Friday night, and the next two days were devoted to personal property and taking care of the homefront. Eric had just risen to leave.

"Sit down, son," Johnston said, indicating the chair across from his own. Johnston watched as Eric sat, a wary expression on his face. "Marriage is hard-"

"It's a little late for this one, Dad," Eric sighed. He leaned his elbows on his knees and shook his head, looking at the floor. "Besides, I've heard it before."

"Fine. I'll fastforward." Johnston levelled a look at Eric and waited for his son to look him in the eye. "Fatherhood is harder." Eric's reaction was not what he was expecting. Johnston watched as Eric stood, paced the room - something more along Jake's lines - and then leaned against the mantle of the office fireplace like a tired runner. "I know you shouldn't be hearing it from me, and I'll probably be in the doghouse until next Thanksgiving for telling you, but I thought you should know."

Eric said nothing, just nodded. Johnston added another line.

"We're still having everyone over tonight for dinner, just a friendly little get-together. You can always drop by and talk to April."

"I'll be by," Eric said, then turned and walked out, leaving the complaint files behind him.

Johnston didn't know where he was going but he did know that he wasn't going home. Or to Mary's.

Oh, yeah. It was starting to feel like the holidays.

'Dammit, Gail,' he thought, 'why did you have to get into this?'

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jake, Heather, Aylah, Emily, Mitch, Jonah, Skylar, and April all arrived at the Green's house within five minutes of each other. April had run upstairs to change out of her scrubs and into something warmer and less hospital-scented. Eric had moved out three days before, but he had promised to drop by this evening for dinner. He did not bring, or offer to bring, Mary with him.

"Oh, good," Gail said, beaming at the group. "Johnston's finishing up the chicken on the grill. I think there's enough room at the table, but if we need to squeeze in a bit…"

"We'll manage to survive, Mom," Jake said, then added a straightfaced, "Heather can sit on my lap."

"Jacob," Gail snapped, here eyes flashing and lips thinning. Before she said the next word, she decided it wasn't worth it. "Anyway, pick a chair. Johnston's at his usual place, so just fill in the sides."

"Thanks, Gail," Jonah said, grinning at her. "We brought a few things, too." With that, the group spread out from behind Jake and Jonah, revealing several people carrying squares wrapped in towels.

"That wasn't necessary - oh, my." Gail stared as several dishes were produced from inside the towels.

"The towels make great insulators," Heather said, giving Gail a goofy grin. "And I promise I didn't make any of it, so it's really edible." Gail couldn't really respond. Her eyes were darting from person to person and dish to dish.

"I…think we'll need more room." She turned to look at the buffet-bar she had. "Here. And thank you," she managed. She was about to add more, but she saw the door opening and the words wouldn't come.

Eric walked in, and stopped cold. There was more of an audience than he had expected.

"Eric," Gail said, not quite stuttering. "Won't you join us?"

"I'm not staying. I just came by to talk to April." He looked around the room. "Is she here?"

"Upstairs, in your - her room," Johnston said, cutting off his wife's most likely intemperate remark. "I'm sure she wants to talk to you, too. If you're done before dinner, join us."

"Thanks, but this shouldn't take long."

Jonah observed and began bracing himself for the fireworks to come. He recognized that expression. Johnston wore it every time he was expecting to get into a fight. The brownish hair and beard Eric had only made the impression that much stronger. Jonah could endure listening to domestic strife, so long as it was confined to yelling, maybe a little breakage of those frou-frou things women would keep around. Not his problem until they made it his problem.

Eric nodded to the group and walked, or rather stalked, into the living room and up the stairs.

The unusual quiet of the group was quickly broken by a concerted effort from Skylar and Heather. Soon, a normal conversation was flowing around the room.

J*J*J*J*J*J

When he walked to the door, he saw it was open. April was standing in front of the mirror, her shirt raised enough to inspect her stomach. No, it wasn't as flat as it had been a few weeks ago, but Eric hadn't noticed. Their awkward hello quickly turned sour.

"So," Eric said, standing and looking at the woman he'd once believed he loved. "When were you going to tell me about the baby?"

"When I knew it wouldn't affect your decision," she replied, raising her chin and crossing her arms in front of her. She was close to him, since they didn't want this conversation to carry into the next room.

"Is it mine?" The question was delivered calmly.

April's hand connected with his cheek before Eric realized he'd actually said it.

"You _bastard_!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. Her forced calm was shattered. Her voice was clearly heard in the dining room downstairs. "How dare you-"

"My parents were married, April. How dare I what?" he asked, his voice rising. "How dare I ask the question? Christ, April! Do you think I'm an idiot? No," he said, laughing bitterly. "Don't bother to answer that. I know."

"There hasn't been anyone else," she said, tears streaming down her face. "Not in a while - why won't you believe me?"

"Why? You have to ask?" Eric held up his hand. "Let's count the reasons." He extended one finger. "Dr. Alexandre." He extended a second finger. "David Shepperton." A third. "Dr. McCleary." A fourth, but he didn't get to speak. She'd stared walking away at the first words. By the time he'd reached McCleary, she'd reached the shelves. April picked up the first thing she saw, a figurine Eric's grandfather had given him when he was about four, turned, and threw it at him.

"Damn you, Eric!" she yelled.

"Of course, damn me," he yelled back. "God forbid anyone find out you aren't nearly as perfect as you like everyone to think. How many people knew you were screwing around?" He ducked a second hurled object d'art and stopped.

"You say that! You, with Mary," she spat the name. "How long have you been fucking her? Since we were married?"

"No, April, you're the only whore I slept with while we were married." Eric's volume was lower, but his voice was overflowing with the hate he now had for her. "Were you charging for those hours, too? Did I not pay you enough? Not keep you well enough for you to stay faithful? Or were you charging all of the others, instead?"

"I never would've gone to them if you'd done anything for me in bed," she hissed, "but you hardly ever touched after we were married for six months."

Eric felt the rage taking him over. He remembered exactly when the blush had left the rose, when his illusions of his beloved wife had been irrevocably shattered. It hadn't been a full six months. When Eric replied, when he found the ability to reply, his voice was unnaturally quiet.

"You were working a long shift for your residency, staying at your apartment in Rogue River. I drove up early that Thursday, took Friday off to spend a long weekend with you. I was planning to surprise you. You never noticed. You were in bed, riding your 'study partner' for all you were worth." Eric turned quickly, his hands fisted at his sides. He had met the man weeks before. Never thought that his wife, his darling, the woman he adored, was doing anything like _that_ with the other man. He stepped next to the wall, punched it. Welcomed the pain of the drywall cracking around his knuckles. Twice in his life had he come so close to hitting her. The first, that afternoon. He had wanted to beat the man to death. He had wanted to break her neck. Now, today, he just wanted her to hurt. He couldn't do it. Couldn't strike her, physically. She wouldn't believe his words, not when she was like this. Now she finally complained about his desire for her disappearing, even while she was having the affairs. Finally, he was able to speak again, to see some colour other than a misty red film.

"Hell with this. As soon as we figure out how to work a divorce in this new system, that's it. I'm done." He turned and walked toward the door.

"And the baby?" she whispered, her voice like a whip. She couldn't believe he was walking out on her like this, knowing she was pregnant.

"I will be there for the baby. I'll even support you. Even if it's not mine." He would never be sure it wasn't, but he would never be sure it was, either. Not quite six weeks. The day the bombs went off, that was the last time - the only time - he'd touched her in over a year. "But damned if I'll live with you or spend time with you."

He had stopped, but he hadn't bothered to turn around. His hand was on the doorknob. The door had been open for their fight, but he hadn't cared. Neither had she.

April flinched as the door slammed shut. A second later, she remembered that it was time for dinner and there were guests. How much had they heard?

J*J*J*J*J*J

In the hall, Eric nearly ran over Jake. When things had started breaking, Jake had excused himself and hustled upstairs. April liked him well enough that she wouldn't hurt him nearly as much as she might Eric, and there were several different weapons in the house, thanks to the paternal side of the family.

"Get out of my way, Jake," Eric snarled.

"Hell no," Jake said, taking in the red side of Eric's face, then the bleeding knuckles. "You hit her?"

"No. Should've broken her fucking neck years ago-" Eric quit speaking and moved to the side; Jake blocked him. "Move, Jake," he snarled. This was not the time for Jake to remember he was the irritating little asshole brother.

"You want a fight. You got one." Jake didn't say anything else, but drove his fist into Eric's stomach.

Jake had caught the look Johnston had given him, the signal from Jonah, too. Whatever was going on, he was supposed to fix it, or at least end it for the night. Whatever it took. Looked like that was going to be a fight. He'd never tied up with Eric, since Eric had always been older and stronger while Jake was in the mood to fight for stupid reasons. Now, though, they were evenly matched. Between the things he'd heard through the door and Eric's reactions now, there was no way Jake was letting him out of the house like this. The choice was simple: Fight with Eric now, himself, or let Eric go downstairs and get into it with Jonah or Mitch. Jake wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as the other two would.

Eric gasped and doubled over, but instead of cooling him down, that punch set him off. The steadiest of the Greens, the most even-tempered wasn't without at temper, even though that's what most people wanted to believe. He just had a much, much longer fuse. April was the only one who could shorten that fuse to practically nothing.

The response Jake had expected was not the one he got. He was expecting Eric to stand up and yell, the way he always had in the past. Instead, he got Eric's shoulder in his gut and they were on the floor, cursing and throwing punches when they could.

April opened the door at the loud thump of Jake hitting the floor. She was shocked to see Eric in an actual fight. Eric was not at all violent. There were footsteps on the stairs, running tempo. Mitch, Jonah, and Johnston were suddenly there, separating the brothers, Johnston pushing April back into her room. His eyes did not miss the broken drywall, right at shoulder level. His lips tightened under the camouflage of his beard and mustache. Looked like Eric had gotten his own temper, though a longer fuse. He remembered doing the same thing in the first year of his own marriage - and Gail had been a lot more vicious than April could ever be. Gail was a Boston girl, born and raised in a Teamster's house. Damn, and Eric had gone long, long past what he had. Looked like the boy was going to fight anyone who was convenient. Only one way to deal with him now. Johnston walked into April's room to retrieve the ultimate calming tool.

Mitch took Eric, Jonah took Jake. Eric was built more like Johnston, and Jake was calmer anyway. Angry, but willing to let go. Eric still wanted to go the rounds. Mitch didn't want it, but it turned out he had a fight on his hands.

Eric was past caring about who he was fighting with. He just wanted to hurt someone. He'd just gotten in a few good hits when pain exploded through the back of his head and the world went black.

Johnston let out a heavy breath as he watched Eric go limp. He propped the twelve-guage against the wall, muzzle up. It wasn't fun, having to knock your own son out with the butt of a rifle, but his own father had done it to him once. Come to think of it, it had been over a woman - Gail. Took a lot for a Green to go this far, but when he did, the only way to end it was to stop him cold, preferably from behind.

"Carry him downstairs. Get an icepack." Johnston shook his head. "You okay, Jake?"

"Yeah," Jake said, staring at his father and his brother. "Why…" He couldn't figure out how to ask it.

Jonah answered for his old friend. "You've got a quick temper, kid. You pop off, you're done. Johnston & Eric bottle it up. When it finally breaks loose, only one way to get them down is to put them down." Jonah looked at Mitch. He would have a few bruises, but was otherwise okay. "Want ice?" he asked.

"Guess. Nothin' bad." He looked at the man slumped against him. "Always put him down as the pussy. Never thought he had a right like that."

Jake and Johnston snorted. "He's left handed," they both said.

"Shit," Mitch said, blinking. If that was his off hand, Mitch did not want to deal with his natural.

"Damn," Jonah said, wincing.

"Let's move this downstairs." Jonah and Jake helped Mitch carry the unconscious man downstairs, where Gail was hovering anxiously, carefully blocked from joining the men by the phalanx of women in front of her. "April," he said, just letting that one word move Johnston's attention to the next order of business.

Johnston went to her room and told her to stay upstairs, inside, and wait for someone to come get her. He didn't explain why, and she didn't ask.

Downstairs, Gail had managed to get away from the other women and was on her way to see her sons, but was intercepted and immediately hustled into the kitchen by Jonah.

"Gail, you need to leave it alone for now," he said, remaining calm.

"Like hell I will!" she snapped back, furious. "I want to know what's going on! In my house! With my son! Right now!"

"Fine. Eric and Jake were fighting. Eric lost his temper, Johnston knocked him out. The cause seems to be a certain pregnant redhead who's still upstairs. Now, get some ice for Jake, Mitch, and Eric, fix a tray for April, give it to someone else to take upstairs, and get back down here." Jonah was still calm, but he was getting irritated. What was it about the redheads that made life hell for everyone around them? This woman was no different. For Eric to go that far, over April? He could not understand it.

"You are not giving me orders in my own house, Jonah Prowse," she hissed, the mother separated from her young was not liking it.

Jonah pinched the bridge of his nose. First a dinner invitation, then a fight, now a fledgling headache. Women.

"Gail, I'll be blunt. Johnston loves you, the kids adore you. I don't." He was obviously tired. Gail blinked at his sudden pronouncement. "You can be an interfering pain in the ass. Stay here. This does not concern you."

"But my son-" Gail's temper was rising even higher. How dare he try to keep her out of there!

"Is an adult who did something stupid and now has to sleep it off. I like you, but you are one of the most trying women I've ever met. How in hell John's dealt with you all these years is beyond me." He saw her open her mouth. "And do not mention Sylvie." Her jaw snapped shut. "You have no idea what happened between us, anymore than you do here."

Pinching her lips and letting out a deep breath through her nose, Gail set about making ice packs, putting together a tray, and cursing softly as she moved around the kitchen.

If Johnston had heard what she was muttering, he would've slept on the couch that night.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Several minutes and applied ice later, Eric groaned.

"What the…" he mumbled, slowly opening his eyes.

"You calmed down yet?" Johnston asked, eyeing his eldest carefully.

"Yeah. Ow." Eric looked at Jake. "Sorry, Jake. Did you do this?"

"Nope. Neither did Mitch." Jake pointed to the other man.

"Mitch?" Eric raised up enough to look.

"You don't remember using him as a punching bag?" Jake asked, incredulous. The men looked over where Emily was hovering and caring for Mitch, even while she was calling him an idiot for getting involved in something like this. Only Emily.

At that moment, Aylah and Heather walked back down the stairs, after delivering April's dinner to her. Aylah looked at Jonah as Heather made a beeline for Jake, frowning as she saw the swelling that indicated a black eye and his split lip. She'd check for other injuries later. Right now, she was getting ice and he was going to use it, no matter how grumpy he got.

Aylah simply shook her head, the question she'd been instructed to ask had been answered in the negative. Jonah closed his eyes. The headache was there, but it wasn't promising pure misery.

Jake looked around at the gathering as well as he could with Heather filling most of his field of vision. They weren't going to get anything out of Eric here. There was only one way to get Eric to talk about what was really bothering him, and it involved large amounts of tequila, the cabin at the lake, and Cheez-its in bulk. He'd only managed it once before, two years before Eric got married. It hadn't been the best weekend of their lives, but they had been something like friends then. Hadn't lasted, but they were on better overall terms now than they had been then.

"Dad, I'm taking Eric out to the lake," he said, moving Heather's hand from his lip, giving her fingers a light kiss in apology as he rejected the ice. He didn't see her eyes narrow and her lips thin.

"What? After-" Johnston looked at Jake like he'd lost his mind. The boy was going to talk. Now. Here. As long as Johnston wanted him to.

"Yeah." Eric said, surprising Jake. "Lake sounds good." He was not going to go see Mary like this. Not without getting rid of some of this...whatever was left. He wasn't angry, but he was not going to poison the joy he had with Mary. "Want to join us, Mitch?" Eric asked, looking over. Least he could do to apologize.

Mitch was obviously surprised.

"Like hell. He's not going to be the piñata, Eric." Emily was not happy with that idea. If anyone was going to give Mitch bruises or break his nose, it was going to be her. And he just might get a few added to his present collection tonight, if he argued with her.

"No piñata necessary," Eric said, his tone of voice enough of an apology for Mitch.

"Sure." Mitch captured the now irritated Emily of the narrowing eyes and tapping toe and kissed her hard. The kiss left Emily mercifully speechless for the moment. It was the one way to guarantee she wouldn't talk. Benedick and Beatrice, he remembered, from the one Shakespearean play he liked - _Much Ado About Nothing_ - Benedick had had the same problem with his woman and found the same method of shutting her up to be most effective. "Be glad to," he said before Emily could recover.

The rest of the group, excepting Heather and Aylah, were amused at this exchange. From where they stood, it looked like Emily had finally met her match in every way, including stubbornness. Heather and Aylah saw something different, and neither one was certain it was healthy.

"Neanderthals," Heather muttered. She was unhappy. She was willing to share it with the group. "Fight, then go out drinking, and they're suddenly the bestest buddies in the world. Men." She looked at Aylah. "Why do we put up with them?"

"Continuation of the species?" Aylah suggested, tired of the combined posturing and seeming telepathy that would now allow these three men to become the best of buddies after trying to kick each other's asses. "Lifting heavy objects and carrying them for long distance over rough terrain?"

"Be nice," Jonah said, a half-smile on his face. It was a given that the women present wouldn't understand what was happening here. He could tell that the fight that had been brewing between Mitch and Jake would probably not happen. There was nothing quite like a fight, followed by a large amount of alcohol and a rambling, seemingly random, conversation to cement a friendship between men.

"I am," replied Aylah, smiling sweetly.

Eric, Jake, and Mitch looked at each other. It was obvious, wasn't it? There hadn't been any real intention to fight with each other, nothing personal. Why couldn't the women get it?

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

**Later that night…**

A few hours later, the guys were out at the cabin and well on their way to thoroughly soused. Eric was leading the intrepid trio, though Jake and Mitch weren't far behind. They'd talked a bit about Mary and April, learned that Eric and April had been very good about their relationship until Eric had finally moved out. Until that day, they'd not even slept together. Mitch and Jake had mentioned that they were doing well with their women, and there was no jealousy there, which Mitch had half-expected. The careful turns of the conversation at first took the sting out of the conversation for Eric and left them open for a more pleasant evening.

Mitch was talking about a girl he'd been dating in high school, how they'd skip P.E., the last class of the day, and go down to the river. Jake laughed, remembering his own tendency to skip P.E. with Emily. Eric shook his head. Even drunk, he couldn't touch the mischief these two had gotten into.

"Coach ever catch you?" Jake asked, remembering the up-downs and barrel-rolls he'd done down the football field ad nauseum. Literally. Every time he got caught, coach had him doing those two things until he puked. Turned out to be great for teaching him how to keep his equilibrium in almost any situation. Aerobatics never gave him a problem.

"Once, but we managed to play it off." Mitch grinned. "Take it you and Em weren't that lucky?"

"Hell no." Jake told the first story about getting caught, leaving out the benefits of the punishment he'd received. "But there was that time on top of the pressbox…" He then related a story about his junior homecoming game, the difficulty of getting out of enough gear to manage sex with Emily, and sneaking up and down the ladder to the pressbox…during halftime and the first part of the third quarter. Mitch and Eric were howling by the time he finished the story.

"Old Clyde was calling the game? And he didn't catch you?" Eric managed around a mouthful of Jake's hoarded Cheez-its. Jake had been hoarding a lot of them, too. They'd gone through three boxes, and a batch of warmed, barbequed, little-smoked-mini-hotdogs-thingies. He never could remember what those were called, but they were the perfect food with tequila and Cheez-its.

"Nope." Jake gave them a smug smile.

"How did you manage that?" Old Clyde was a demon when it came to sensing a presence outside his pressbox. No one, not even the cleaning crew, managed to get into that box without hearing about it. The end result was the place was filthy, but Old Clyde was happy and continued calling the games. He was the best announcer Jericho had seen.

"Left a bottle of Crown Royal with a really nice crystal tumbler and a 3-liter of Coca-Cola in his chair, with a huge ribbon, card said something like 'In appreciation of 45 years of dedication' or something. By halftime, he was completely oblivious to everything but the game and the Crown & Cokes he was pouring." Jake shrugged. "After that, it was just a matter of convincing Em that we wouldn't get caught."

"How long did that take?" Mitch asked, thinking of the way Emily turned into the perfect whore as soon as he touched her.

"About a month." Jake grimaced. "Took me that long to plan it all out. We fought over the idea for about a month, yeah. Sounds right. Finally just dragged her up there during halftime. After that, it was a matter of getting out of those damned pants." Jake took another shot. "Then again, she didn't talk to me for a week afterward, so I guess she was pretty pissed."

Mitch was shaking his head. "Damn, man. Was it worth it?"

"Let's put it this way - if the game hadn't been close, we'd've both been in the sheriff's office and Dad would've finally skinned me for a rug." Jake laughed. "The only reason I managed to get her up there was the joint she'd had before the game."

"No way," Eric said, staring at him. "Did she get it from Betsy Crawford?"

"Who else?" Jake asked. "Wait a minute - how did you know about Betsy Weeds?"

Eric snorted. "You were just stupid enough to get caught, little bother."

"Brother, man," Mitch corrected. "You're slurrin' bad."

"Nope. Said what I meant." Eric smirked at Jake, who threw a Cheez-it at him and flicked him off. Eric gave them both a wicked smile. "Okay, so the river and the pressbox - those are good, but did either of you manage to make it in the principal's office - on his desk?" He paused, then added, "During school hours?"

"No way!" Mitch was well acquainted with the principal's office. Not possible.

"You've got to be shitting me!" from Jake.

Eric sat back, took a shot and began to tell the tale. Both of the younger men listened with awe and admiration as Eric's recounting of devious acts and even more wicked actions on his part, the femme remained nameless, much to the others' dismay, including sneaking out just before the principal made it back into his office.

"You are my hero, man," Mitch said, raising a bottle. "I bow to your superiority."

Jake took it a step further. "You gave me a black eye, but that deserves out and out veneration." With that, Jake slid to the floor and bowed to Eric. Mitch did the same a split-second later. Eric smugly accepted their adoration.

"One day, boys, you will figure out how to manage your affairs with true panache," he gave them a magnanimous lesson. "But first, you must learn the basics of anatomy. To begin with, you are both male, which means-"

Eric broke off and barely managed to save the last bit in his glass when they rushed him.

Several minutes later, after they were too dizzy to horse around, they sprawled around the floor, breathing heavily and letting the laughter die down. After a few minutes of silence, Eric spoke.

"Five months," Eric sighed. "Five months, one week, three days, six hours and 42 minutes."

"Okay," Mitch said. "That was more random than usual."

Eric shook his head. "That's when I found her in bed with someone else." Eric sat up and took another shot of tequila. He wasn't hurting now. He was well beyond numb. "Counted the minutes. Literally. Sad, huh?"

"Damn, man," Jake said before taking a shot of his preferred vice, Scotch. Tequila was just too rough for him. "That's a bitch."

"So what'd you do?" Mitch asked, marginally the more sober of the three, but only because he had won the impromptu game of quarters. They'd played with whatever spare change they'd had, prompting the new name of pennickdimters, but the game remained the same.

"Turned around and walked out. Wanted to kill them, but didn't." He was becoming maudlin. "Loved her, so much. Then, pfff."

"Didn't even kick his ass?" Jake asked, surprised.

"Nope. Just walked out. Kept track of her after that. There were more." Eric looked at his bottle. Over half gone. Maybe he should slow down. Nah. The worm was calling him. "Lots more. Not me, though. Was never entirely sure where she'd been."

They were quiet after that. There wasn't really anything to say.

Jake wondered if Eric should be drinking this much with a concussion. He wasn't sure, but he thought he remembered it being a bad idea. If he could walk, he'd go get water. Jake tried to stand up. He managed it. Briefly. His knees went limp and he dropped back in place on the couch. Maybe sitting was a better idea anyway. If they started drinking water, they'd have to try and walk to the bathroom, and walking just wasn't happening right now. And Eric's glass was empty. Oh, look. So was his own. And Mitchy's. Mitchy? Did he just think of Mitch as Mitchy? He must be drunk. He thought for a minute and tried to recite the quadratic equation. He got to -b, + or - the square root of something or other before he decided he was drunk and the quadratic equation was pretty much useless anyway. Nice of Mitch to pour another round. Maybe Mitch would get the water. No, water was a bad idea. Or was it a good idea? Didn't matter, since his shotglass was full again. Bottom's up!

J*J*J*J*J*J

Upstairs, April cried herself to sleep. Why had she ruined the best, most wonderful man she'd ever known? She didn't know, but something was missing. He had been so sweet, loving, intent on her in every way - but she had gone to another man. When Eric had stopped coming to her, she'd wondered if he knew. Now she knew.

In all the fights they'd had over the last five years, he'd never said anything about the other men.

"Saint April" he called her, a sarcastic curse she had to admit she deserved. It wasn't any wonder that he'd gone to another woman. How long? That was the only question she had. How long?

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah considered the number of things he had to do tomorrow. The first order of business was to review the complaints taken over the past week. He would give that no more than an hour. Easy things, he'd hand to the trainees. Those would be trespassing, minor littering, bullshit that the trainees would be sure to mention they did not want him coming down to resolve for them. The more interesting things, but those that still did not require his personal attention, went to Jimmy and Bill. The most sticky problems, like the refugees and newcomers he had agreed to speak to personally, were his. He'd completed two interviews, known the others well enough to pass on them, and the last group was the Hawkins family. He was not anticipating joy and celebration when he showed up on their doorstep early in the morning.

And he would be assiduously avoiding redheads for at least a week. Both redheads happened to spend inordinate amounts of time at the clinic, which made avoiding them easier. He envied the boys and Johnston. It was a pity, since Gail was such a wonderful cook, but after that disaster of a dinner, he was more than certain she would not have them back anytime soon. Probably for the better. The last thing he needed was to get deeply involved in the Green family dramas. He had enough of his own to worry about. Speaking of drama, Aylah, Emily and Heather were at Heather's tonight, with Skylar and Lisa. Something about a hen party. The thought made him queasy.

He tried to convince himself that his sleeplessness had more to do with the thought of Aylah alone in a room filled with women and, most likely large amounts of alcohol, on a Friday night, than that she wasn't there beside him. It hadn't been but, what, a month and some days? He couldn't be used to her already. No, it couldn't be. He'd slept alone for so long, he was still getting used to having her there. It was his schedule. It was the potential for gossip.

He didn't miss her. He didn't.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Skylar laughed and poured another round for the group now gathered at Heathers. Originally, it had been Aylah, Skylar, Heather, and Emily, but they'd met Lisa on the way back to Heather's house, an old log-cabin style not too far from the edge of town. She had power, if she wanted it. Tonight, she did.

Lisa had called from Heather's to tell her parents where she was. Bonnie and Mimi, who were getting along a little better but still weren't anything resembling overtly friendly, had dropped by to ask if Heather would be going out to the farm and the dairy to pick up the extra things Stanley had found in the old Richmond cabin basement. The donation of more old, cast iron equipment was deeply appreciated by more than one household. These were duplicates of things Bonnie and Mimi were already using in the house. Since they had so obligingly appeared, they were invited to join in the hen party. Emily had thought for a moment and made a phone call to the last person who needed to be there, Mary Bailey. The bartender was happy to join them, and even brought over some of her personal favourites. She would never admit it, but she had secretly dreaded the town learning about her relationship with Eric. Some of the first to find out had just asked her over to enjoy an evening, and Emily was many things, but cruel wasn't one of them. Mary had only hesitated a moment before accepting.

Conversation ranged from what everyone had been doing, how people they knew were, to college and high school - Heather and Emily both demonstrated an old cheer they'd done in high school, one Skylar and Lisa had heard about, but couldn't do because it had been banned by the DOE for being "unseemly" - and inevitably came to the two most enjoyable topics moderately tipsy to completely inebriated women could enjoy: men and sex.

Mimi told about an adventure or two she'd enjoyed on Thanksgiving vacation, with the gorgeous cabana boy with the gorgeous abs and shoulders to here who kept her well-supplied with mango margaritas. Mary admitted to a few affairs that hadn't been entirely set in the bedroom, but Eric's name wasn't mentioned. Stanley's was, which made Mimi growl and Bonnie cover her eyes. Heather cackled at the story about Stanley. So that's how he knew that hay wasn't that much fun to sleep in! Or anything-else in, either.

Alyah was quiet, listening and chuckling when the stories involved people she knew. She tried to think of one she could contribute, but there was nothing even close to the things these women were relating. She doubted they wanted to hear about Jonah, but even then, there wasn't anything like this. For example, Emily's story about Jake and "visiting" the top of the pressbox of the stadium, a safe place to remain unseen, but much trickier to get to during halftime of the homecoming game!

Skylar's jaw dropped as this little tidbit came out, and she blurted out, "How could they not hear you?"

Emliy laughed and admitted that they'd spent a great deal of time worrying about being quiet back then. Of course, given that it had been the third quarter before either of them returned to the sidelines, there had been so much crowd noise that no one could have heard them. She didn't mention her hesitancy and the fights they had for nearly a month beforehand.

Lisa fell over laughing, trying to picture Emily and Jake, in their proper Jericho Jackdaws cheer and football uniforms, trying to get undressed enough to do anything. Heather groaned and buried her head in her hands, then related an evening at the Georgia Tech track, before they'd closed it off to after-hours walks by students.

"Actually," she admitted, a little to inebriated to blush, "I'm one of the reasons they closed the track after dark. The other was the Swedish exchange students planning an orgy with the French exchange students. In the middle of the track. Using some of the equipment."

"New definition for the pole vault," Aylah murmured, causing the others to howl.

Sometime during the rest of the conversation, which had segued into different positions when someone saw a battered copy of the Kama Sutra on Heather's packed bookshelves, much more alcohol was consumed. They'd gathered around the book and discussed the feasibility of several of the more unusual positions.

"Hang on," Lisa said, turning the book to see the illustration more clearly. "How many people are in this one?"

"Umm…" Emily studied the picture. "Either there are three people, or that is one incredibly flexible man."

"Are you sure that's the man?" Aylah asked. "That looks like - no, you're right. It's the man. Can males bend that way?"

"I can't bend that way," Skylar chimed in. "So that's one leg. Where's the other?"

"Is that it?" Mary asked, pointing to a part of the illustration.

Eight pairs of eyes squinched shut and eight heads tipped one way, then the other in the attempt to determine the answer.

"Oh!" Mimi said, grinning. "No. That's definitely not his other leg. Well, his third leg, but not the one he walks on."

"What that, he could limp along," Bonnie snickered. She hadn't seen bulls that well-endowed, speaking from a purely proportionate perspective.

"Is that even humanly possible?" Skylar gaped. "I mean…can you say horse?"

"Horse." This from Lisa. Skylar leaned over and smacked her on the back of her head.

"Ow!"

"There's the other leg," Aylah said, triumphant. She pointed and everyone nodded.

"Okay…but…where are her legs? Wouldn't they have to be at least on a 200 degree angle to manage that?" This from Emily.

"Unless she was like this," Heather said, sitting up and stretching to demonstrate.

"Maybe, but her legs would be visible here, and they're not." Aylah turned the book again and squinted. This would be so much easier if the image would stop floating on the page. "I don't think this one is actually physically possible. Maybe like this?" Aylah gave a different pose.

"No, that wouldn't work, unless she had some serious anatomical problems." Emily studied the picture and gave a different interpretation.

"OH!" Mary suddenly said. "No, it's like this." She slithered into the correct position, and everyone looked at her and then at the picture.

"That's it," Heather said, "I just don't remember how it works when he's in the way."

"You actually did this?" Bonnie demanded, turning the book upside down. "I don't believe it."

Mary grinned. "Long story, but yes. We didn't intend to, but somehow managed it." She carefully sat back down normally. "Of course, I was twenty, so it was a lot easier to manage and ow…" she rubbed her hip and thighs. "Not fun now. Definitely not fun now."

"I did, too. In college. Let me see the book a second." Heather took the book and carefully read the mark next to it. "Hang on." She tried to stand up, but ended up crawling to the bookshelf and searching the bottom shelf for the notebook labelled Personal Physics. She crawled back with the book and started flipping pages.

"Explain," Mimi demanded, pouring another round for them all. This was going to be good.

"Okay, I had to do a project for the basic physics class I was in. The prof was really boring and so uptight about everything that my friend and I came up with the most shocking application of physics we could. Other people were working on helicopters, airplanes, speed boats, and the usual stuff. We were really bored one weekend and had gone to a shop that had copies of the Kama Sutra out, and we had joked about the practical application of physics to sex. Turned out to be one of the most fun physics projects I had." She grinned. "Aced it, too.

"Had the same prof my junior year for the Applied Physics 3341-3350 sections, including labs. There were only twelve of us in that class, but it was awesome. Turned out he was only an ass in the lower-level classes so that he didn't have to put up with the slackers and dilettantes in the upper levels. Turned out to be one of the most incredible teachers I ever had." She thought for a second, pausing in her flipping. "And he wrote suggestions in the margins, too."

Snickers greeted that pronouncement, and Heather got back to searching for the correct page. She flipped to the correct section and Mimi crowded closer to the notebook, easily twice as thick as the same-size original.

"Are those pictures?" Mimi gasped, staring with new admiration for the perky brunette. "Damn! Never would've picked you for an exhibitionist!"

"Yeah. We had to document our procedures," Heather gave them an evil grin. "Photographs courtesy another friend, who we'd known for a while. And yes, I have all the negatives. Prof kept a copy, though, for further research." She laughed, a wicked, naughty laugh no one thought she had in her. "We've written back and forth several times with information about various positions. Seems his wife is really into yoga, and with practice and yoga, most of these get easier. And more fun."

Skylar and Lisa were so surprised they were slackjawed. Emily screeched.

"HEATHER ANNE LISINSKI! You SLUT!" She leaned over and popped her friend on the behind. "You absolute slut! What about that one?" She pointed to one she'd thought looked interesting.

"It's okay. The one on the previous page is better though, especially if there's a considerable difference in height." The answer was absent as Heather continued flipping pages. "You and Mitch might like it, but I won't be trying it with Jake. That would just hurt.

"Here it is. Okay, there's the series of pictures. Damn, I was flexible, wasn't I?" She stared at the picture. Ten pictures demonstrated the pose from various angles. "Here are the notes. 'Not for beginners. Be careful when moving into position…'" she continued, reading off the potential hazards, which included slipped discs, knee strains, and torn ligaments. There was also a strength requirement, a motion range, and an effort-to-returns ratio. "High effort required, practically no returns for either party."

"You rated all of these, based on…effort to returns?" Aylah started laughing. "The Lisinski Scale, from Yawn to OhOhOh!" The last was with full sound effects. The others laughed and Bonnie chimed in.

"So would a one be horrible or the most incredible experience ever on your scale, Heather?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Heather defended her project, then started giggling. "One is Don't Bother, or Yawn. Twenty is Pure Gratification at Excessive Decibels."

Bonnie smirked. "We'll have to use this scale later, you know."

"Of course," Skylar said, an evil plan perking in her brain. "Maybe we can review over breakfast each morning."

"Brat," Heather said, grabbing the Khalua. "Just for that, no more chocolate."

"Okay, so maybe later. After the males are gone." Skylar wanted her chocolate. She held out her glass. Heather considered it a moment and then poured. Mary added Bailey's and cream to the glass, making one of the best drinks they'd ever had.

"What about this one?" Mary asked, flipping back and pointing at a much less convoluted position.

"That one was…easy effort," Heather said, then grinned at her notes.

"And the returns?" Emily asked, not thinking that was what Heather had wanted.

"Mind-blowingly phenomenal. That would be a twenty-five." With that, Heather downed her shot and the conversation slowly changed direction once again. Finally, when the alcohol saturation had reached the maximum and the mood had mellowed significantly, they started talking about the men they were seeing now. No one offered up any extremely personal information, not like with the past experiences and lovers.

"It's not love," Heather insisted, answering a question about her relationship with Jake. "Love is too simple. Jake and I just happened. It was…It was like coming home." It was the closest she could come to describing what had happened between them. "Why are you with Jonah?"

Aylah, eyes half-closed, answered absently. "Because we fit. We understand each other better than anyone else."

"That's hard to believe," Mary added, thinking about the differences between Aylah and Jonah. "That can't be all there is."

"He got me out of a bad situation, didn't give up on me." Aylah closed her eyes, thinking about the question as well as she could. She'd decided to drink with them tonight, and her responses were more open than usual. "Kept me from killing myself. Kept me sane. Took me to live with Miss Maddie when I got out of the hospital. He was always there for me, if I needed him."

"Wow," Mimi said, breaking the thoughtful silence that fell over the room. "I just thought it was his car."

"Or that black leather coat," Lisa added, getting a look from Skylar. "What? He looks damned good in that coat, Sky." Skylar wrinkled her nose and couldn't think of Jonah as a sex object. He was just…not that man for her.

"And with nothing on," added Heather, not thinking about the reaction that would get. She was thinking of her very enjoyable eyeful and his comments on the drive to the Rogue.

"What?" It was a chorus of screeches. Demands for information followed in a cacophony of high pitches.

"I walked in just as he was getting out of the shower," Heather explained, smiling at the memory. "Very nice. Very, very nice. The man is built - and I mean _built_."

"There are some things I don't want to know," Emily said firmly, ending that avenue of speculation. "He's my father!" This was just surreal.

"And you have some very nice genes," Heather complimented her friend, sighing. Very, very nice.

"Speaking of you, Em," Bonnie said, heading off Emily's hotheaded response without knowing it. She was only thinking about what she'd heard of Emily and Mitch. "What's going on with you and Mitch?"

Emily groaned. "I don't know. I can't stand him, but he just feels so good. Not just in bed, but that's a lot of it." She hugged a pillow and sighed. "I mean, we're good together, and he drives me near to murder half the time, but he takes me as I am. He doesn't want me to be Suzy Homemaker or Miss Popularity. Just me. And it's nice."

"Yeah. I can't stand the way men want us to change," Mary said. "Eric's not like that. He just…accepts me the way I am. Warts and all." Her dreamy smile told the others that she was off in her happy place.

"I won't change for any man," Aylah said, the pleasant buzz having long ago turned into real inebriation. "Never."

"Amen," Heather said, thinking of what Emily and Mitch had shown them earlier in the night and her own painful past. "If Jake can't take me as I am, he doesn't deserve me."

Emily shrugged. "Mitch hasn't wanted me to change, but he won't let me lie about my attraction to him." She thought about the night before and smiled. "And I can't deny it. He's damned good."

"Did he give you a hard time about going to the Rogue?" Heather asked, thinking of the near-fight she'd had with Jake about it. "Jake tried me on that."

"Nope." Emily smiled. "I told him I was going and he just asked me which truck I wanted to drive." She laughed. "Oh, he can get to me fast, but it's good. We're not as peaceful as you and Jake are, Heather, but it's good. Until he pisses me off. Or I piss him off." She shivered, remembering how he reacted when she'd 'misbehaved', according to him. "We make it good, though. I like that he doesn't roll over for me."

"Does he expect you to roll over for him," Mimi asked, seeing the way the other two had taken the conversation. She was from DC. It was second nature for her to see ulterior motives. Not a problem to spur it on to a quick conclusion. "I mean, Stanley and I argue," Bonnie rolled her eyes, "but we work it out. And I'm doing a lot more farm stuff than I used to."

"And she keeps Stanley from kicking Sean out," Bonnie added, smiling at the older woman. "Stanley still can't believe that Sean is doing so much with the livestock. He's actually training people to drive carts and wagons now." Bonnie was so proud of Sean. He hadn't given up on the physical labour yet, and his "vibe" was so perfect for the animals, too.

"No. I mean, we fight. A lot. But it's good." Emily sighed. "Mitch just wants me to be honest with him, to the point of cruelty sometimes." She blushed. "I mean, one night I didn't, you know, and he just about went nuts trying to find out why. So I told him. Next time, he showed he'd paid real close attention to what I said."

"Was that three days ago, by any chance?" Skylar asked wryly.

"Ummm…yeah. Sounds right." Emily grinned. "You're getting an education here, Sky. You, too, Lisa."

The two girls just looked at each other. "Um, not to be too blunt, but we're not entirely clueless here." This from Lisa.

"And we're not willing to go the rounds right now, either. Too much else to worry about. I so do not need to add a male's fragile ego to the mix," Skylar said, rolling her eyes.

"Amen," Lisa said. "Although I don't think Leon's ego is that delicate."

"He's male," Alyah murmured. "Trust me. When it comes to this, it is as delicate as it is huge."

"So is Jonah going to have a reason to be depressed?" Emily asked, half curious, half dreading the answer. She did not want to deal with her father in a blue funk because this really weird relationship he was in was not working for him.

"No. He doesn't need an ego. He simply is." Aylah's comment made sense to the others, but it was hard to imagine a man who wasn't so intense about the physical aspects of the relationship.

"Must be age," Heather mused, "or experience. Or a combination. Damn, I envy you sometimes, Aylah."

"Mm. Have at it, Heather. We're not exactly together."

"And you're not exactly not, either," Heather said, shaking her head. "Don't know."

Emily shook her head. "Jake won't share willingly," she said, thinking of the fights they had. "Or maybe that was then. Who knows? Maybe he's learned something now."

"I won't be held back, constrained, in any way," Heather said, her voice flat. "Never."

Aylah looked at her, thinking that voice sounded a bit too knowledgeable to let that go, but now was not a good time.

"Not what I meant." Emily shook her head. "Mitch won't share. I know that. I don't share either - which was another reason Jake and I fought." She groaned. "And fought and fought and fought. We had fun, but mostly we fought."

Heather thought for a minute. "No, we don't really fight. Then again, we're usually working side-by-side for the same things, so why would we?"

Mary smiled. "Eric and I don't fight, either. Then again, we're just so glad we found each other…" She looked down. "Guess that sounds strange, since he's still married."

"Not in any way that matters," Emily said. "From what I gathered, it ended a long time ago. Greens don't get divorced, though, so he stuck it out." The others looked at her. "What? I've heard that more than once, mostly from Jake. Which is why we never actually got married - dear God, I'd forgotten about that."

"He proposed?" Mimi asked, curious about Jake. He was such a cutie. Nothing like Stanley, though. The goof was just…she couldn't figure it out, but she couldn't keep away from him.

"We were both plastered. In the parking lot of the video store. And it wasn't exactly a proposal so much as a declaration. No need to guess how that turned out." She shook her head.

"A fight?" Heather asked, playing the village idiot.

"Yep." Emily smiled. "And we drifted apart, then he left, and then I met Roger…"

"And Roger is Roger." This from Mary. She'd become familiar with the man over the past two years.

"And Roger wants something I don't know if I want anymore. Mitch just wants me." Emily closed her eyes and sipped her drink. "Not that it matters right now."

"What'll you do if Roger makes it back?" A more serious question from Mary. "I mean, he could be out there somewhere."

"Roger," Emily sighed. "Another reason I hate Mitch. And want him even more. I don't know if I want Roger to come back. I mean, he's been out there. I was engaged to him, in love with him, as a banker. What's happened to him? Is he still my Roger?" She'd cried enough about losing Roger that she wasn't getting teary-eyed now. "And Roger wanted me his sweet, sometimes tough, wife-to-be. I don't want to be sweet anymore. I just want someone who wants me as I am. Is that wrong?"

"Is that why it didn't work out with Jake?" Heather asked, curious.

"No. Jake didn't work because we fought all the time." Emily snorted. "One time, we fought over whether or not we were fighting about the same thing."

"Sounds loud," Lisa said.

"HA!" Skylar choked. "NOT! Loud is what Heather and Jake are now."

"You're exaggerating," Mimi said, rolling her eyes. "Okay, so she's a freak, but she's not loud."

"Wanna bet?" Skylar demanded.

"Sure," Mimi replied. "Fifty bucks. I'm in."

"Fine. You stay in my room next week. If you can't describe exactly what's going on just from the noise, I'll pay up."

"And if I'm wrong, I'll keep a tally of what I heard." Mimi was willing to go that far. If Skylar was right, which she doubted having a country-girl's hearing, she'd happily pay up.

"Deal." Mimi and Skylar leaned over far enough to shake hands, ignoring the tired giggles around the room.

"Is it really that bad?" Heather asked.

"Mimi will let you know," Skylar said, and changed the subject. "So, Mimi, what about you and Stanley? I remember Bonnie complaining about something."

Mimi just smiled sweetly. "We're doing quite well, thank you. Bonnie and Sean are also doing well."

"Sean?" Lisa asked Bonnie, signing the name. "As in Sean Henthorne?"

"Yes," Bonnie said, smiling smugly.

"And his, um…" Lisa couldn't think of a good way to say it.

"He can be an idiot," Bonnie said, nodding. "But you have to put up with the idiot stuff to get to the great stuff. And he can be really great, too." The sweet smile Bonne added at the end made everyone there smile. "What about that guy who keeps following you around, Lisa?"

"Leon?" Lisa smiled. "Leon's nice. He's a lot of fun - and he's smart, too. Just wish we had some music," she added. Dancing was one of her favourite things, and, while they were working on the ventilator at the mine, it needed a complete rebuild so they'd be working on it for weeks to come, they'd talked. "I mean, we work together sometimes, but we don't try anything. We just talk. And wow."

"Good talker?" Emily asked, wrinkling her nose. "Talking's nice, but action's better."

"Spoken like a child of the 80s," Skylar said, rolling her eyes. "Dale and I talk, too. I mean, it's so nice to be able to talk to a guy and not have to worry about the constant pressure."

"True," Aylah said, her response soft. "But not everyone needs words."

With that, the group slowly started to find places to curl up for the night. Heather managed to stagger into her room and curl up in her bed. She was tired, and more than a bit tipsy. Jake was out getting plastered with his brother and Mitch, which should worry her, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to be concerned. Maybe it was the amount of wine, stronger alcohols, and the Khalua, Bailey's, and cream dessert cocktails. Of course, that had been accompanied by a large amount of chocolate and even more gossip, including a completely ridiculous drinking game that Heather had lost.

Instead, she thought about relationships, what she had with Jake, and wondered if he could really take on everything that came with her.

Fidelity was not a problem for her, but she wouldn't be smothered into it. She'd been that before, and she was not going down that road again. After that first bad time, she was never going to give over for any man, even when it came to being faithful. Granted, she wasn't one to go catting around, not since college, anyway, but she wasn't going to deny herself, either. Sure she was attracted to Jonah, but she may well never act upon it.

Could Jake handle knowing what she'd gone through? Could he stand having her step out for a while? If she did, would he still be there? So many men wouldn't, couldn't handle that. Eric was a good example.

Heather's curiosity always drove her, pushed her into things that perhaps were not the best for her. On the other hand, she was comfortable with Jake, moreso than with any other male - even her college lover, and they had been friends before they'd ever been lovers. In order to do some of the things they'd tried, you had to be pretty darned comfy with each other.

Right now, Heather's curiosity centered around one man, but the rest of her was side-by-side with Jake. If she got the chance, she knew she'd take it.

What would Jake do, though?

And why was his possible reaction to something that hadn't happened yet bothering her so much?

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jake was on the ragged edge of sleep when the thought came to him that Heather might be attracted to other men. He knew she'd had others in her bed in the past - he was benefiting quite nicely from that, too, so he really couldn't complain.

If she did go to another man, he wondered what he'd do.

For some odd reason, he wasn't worried about losing her. Not for another man.

He had almost figured out why he wasn't worried about it when Morpheus staggered over and collapsed on top of him. Jake was a strong man, but not even he could fight off the irresistible persuasion of the drunken stupor.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	29. The Days After: 45

**On a Dark Horse-31**

**Timeline: **Bombs + 45

**A/N: **Left out some things, obviously, since my intent was not to retell every word ever said in the show. Don't worry - the things I left out are canon. Again, timeline jumping, but for a good cause.

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

The next morning, late, was a day much cursed by several people in Jericho. Eric, Jake, and Mitch managed to drink enough coffee to feel mostly human.

Then the phone rang.

Jake answered the phone, and was promptly greeted with Jonah's voice demanding his presence, with Mitch and Eric, by one in the afternoon. Jake whimpered an agreement, figuring no one wanted to hear an argument - at least not where Jake was sitting.

Mitch had buried his head in his hands when the telephone shrilled its carol, and Eric's had gone pale and his eyes had crossed.

"We have to be at Jonah's office by one," Jake managed to croak out softly.

"What?" Mitch dreaded the thought of driving. "Why?"

"Dunno. Doncare." Jake whispered.

Eric recovered enough to rasp out his thoughts, "He's not happy with us. The sun is God's flashlight." It was cloudy outside, but there was still light coming in through the thin curtains.

"And we will never do this again," Mitch groaned.

"If we can just make it through today," Jake added.

"I swear," Eric finished.

Across town, the situation was much the same, only no one had the bad manners to call and interrupt a house filled with hungover women.

J*J*J*J*J*J

By noon, most of the participants in the revelry had recovered enough to make it back to their main residences. Skylar and Lisa went to the transport office, both citing work that they had to get done before Monday. Mary wandered back to her tavern, and Bonnie and Mimi went back to the farm. Bonnie felt incredibly guilty that the dairy had to be run by routine that morning, but it wasn't like the other jobs in town. The shorter hours were made up for by the daily shift - and she had been there for every shift until this morning. Mimi, on the other hand, wasn't worried about that. She wanted to get her fix of Stanley for the morning, well, afternoon. And he was probably out in the middle of the fields, which meant she'd be stuck inside the house working on whatever she needed to work on until he came in that night.

Aylah, Heather, and Emily, however, walked down to Heather's basement, where she kept her weapons collection. They talked it over, quietly, and decided to take it back to the transport office and store it with Aylahs' collection. Emily loved the derringers she had, falling head over heals in love with a little .25.

"Keep it on you, then," Heather said, handing her a box of ammo. "If you wear the long skirts, keep it in your garter. Actually, I have a garter-holster for a derringer that size. Look in the accessories cabinet on the left." Emiliy counted the cabinets and looked back at her friend. "Sorry. Third from the left."

"Nice collection," Aylah murmured. "Haven't seen one of these outside of a museum." Aylah was holding a twelve-shot pistol, one of a very few made during the more wild days of the wild west. "Better condition, too."

"Thanks. My grandmother gave me most of the collection her brother and father had put together over the years. She added to it, of course, and so did I. And my uncle."

"Your dad didn't?" Aylah asked, curious.

"No." Heather paused a second then said, "I was raised by my uncle. My dad…had some problems. Mom left him when I was about one. Gran told her that she couldn't take me with her, though. She could visit, stay in town, even see me every day, but I was to stay with my uncle and aunt, who had three kids and a stable marriage. Dad was drinking. Gran told me he'd started hitting Mom, but I really don't remember anything. Anyway, she shoved Dad into a rehab program, and he agreed to remain separated from Mom. Ended up preaching in South America, I think. Missionary work. He was happy there. Mom was happy seeing me every day, and I turned out okay." Heather shook her head. "No, Dad did not contribute to the collection."

"Your grandmother sounds like a trip," Emily said in the attempt to lighten the conversation.

"Oh, yeah. She moved to New Bern when I came back from Kentucky. Opened an auto shop, since she said she was 'damned tired of taking care of acres of land and everybody nearby.'" Heather chuckled. "She's still taking care of anyone who'll let her, but she's only got her shop and her house to deal with now. My uncle and aunt are in Kentucky on the farm." Her voice trailed off as she wondered how they were doing.

"Is the farm there flat?" Aylah asked, curious. She'd never been to Kentucky.

"No. All terraced mini-mountains or sloping valley. It's incredible." Heather shook her head. "Anyway, Gran will probably appear here since we've got someone in New Bern now. She just won't be able to stay away."

Conversation moved back to more general topics and they slowly dragged the very large collection to the transport office and the same storeroom where Aylah had placed her personal collection.

"You know, if we ever decided to go into the business," Heather mused, "we'd have some damned fine products here."

"Mm. Wouldn't sell any of it, though, would you?" Aylah asked, looking over the collection. She'd seen smaller museums.

"Hell no!" Emily said, running her finger along a Winchester that she particularly liked - she had one exactly like it, courtesy of her father when she turned thirteen. "Why would you want to?"

"Such careful craftsmanship in these, pure mechanical design," Aylah said, smiling. It was the main reason she liked the firearms so much - especially the more esoteric German pistols she'd collected over the years.

"Pure physics," Heather sighed, happily. "What could be better?"

Emily thought for a minute and said, unexpectedly seriously, "Freedom." When Aylah and Heather looked at her, Emily had a worried expression. "Every major change in a regime in the past has had some sort of disaster - usually economic, at least in our lifetimes, but something big happened."

"What could be bigger…" Heather began.

"…than the largest terrorist attack in the history of the world?" Aylah ended.

"How do we know it was terrorists?" Emily asked, ready to be the devil's advocate.

"We're still alive," Aylah snorted.

"The missile silos in Wyoming and the Dakotas are hard sites. If this were a full nuclear war, we'd all be dead of radiation poisoning by now, along with most of the rest of the country. Chances are that whatever was left of those sites would be a very large, radioactive hole in the Midwest, since the only way to get rid of a hard site is to hit it repeatedly with large-yield weapons." Heather was thoughtful.

"And the only country that has, or had, that capability was Russia, rather, the U.S.S.R.," Aylah added. "Consider also we've only seen or known about 2 contrails. If it were the U.S.S.R., well, we'd've seen a lot more before we died, too."

"And there's a nuclear plant not too far away - a priority target. And the bases." Heather added.

Emily held up her hands. "Okay. Terrorist attack it was. But from whom?"

"Good question," Heather said, looking over her collection and seeing the true purpose of it now. It bothered her, yes, but not in the sense that it would most people. She saw the tools she could use to fight, even though she prayed it wouldn't come to that.

"Whoever it was," Aylah said softly, "had best be worried." She looked over at her friends. Yes, they were friends now. Both of them. "There's no telling what will happen once the truth is known."

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jake was staring at the shiny new star Jonah had handed him. Mitch was his mirror, only with the addition of a slightly open mouth. Eric was witness to the first two appointed deputies Jonah picked. He was also going as the government representative to the interview with Robert Hawkins and family.

"And what are we going to do?" Jake asked, still fuzzy on the details.

"We are going to go talk to Mr. Hawkins and his family. We will also have Laureanna St. Xavier and Marcus Clarind there." Jonah's tone was expressionless, but his eyes were narrowing. "Are you still drunk?"

"No. Just really hungover." Eric nodded in agreement with Mitch's response, then winced. Thank goodness his medkit in his office had had plenty of what Jake called Vitamin I. Ibuprofen was not his favourite medicine but it helped his hangovers better than any other.

"Are you capable of doing this?" Jonah's voice was now cold. Jake recognized that tone as the you-were-stupid-now-you-pay-for-it voice.

"We're capable," Eric said. "We've had water, coffee, leftovers Dad packed for us to eat this morning, and painkillers. It won't be fun, but we can do it."

"It wasn't going to be fun anyway, and I need you there to make sure they understand that this is not a forceful interview. That's why we're talking Laureanna and Marcus, too. That way no one can cry racism or anything else. I do not want this to turn into some sort of civil rights nightmare." Jonah took a sip of his coffee. "We're already skirting those edges now."

"So, why are we all going?" Mitch was confused.

"Watch the family. Who does the talking? Who looks for cues before they respond? Who doesn't speak? What do they say? What did they really mean?" Jonah pursed his lips and tried to think of a good parallel. "Standard group dynamics. We're not there to question them into submission or anything like that. Just a friendly visit to establish credibility."

Jake started to say something, but didn't voice it. He said instead, "Will we search the place?"

"Only if we establish there's a pattern of lies that cannot be attributed to a simple explanation." Jonah hated that part. He really did.

"What's simple?" Mitch asked.

"Running from a criminal past. The kids were in deep with a gang. The wife was a druggie. The usual." That Mitch understood.

"What if he's an innocent with really bad timing?" Eric asked, carefully neutral.

"Then we apologize for the intrusion, invite the family to dinner at Davey's at the department's expense, and offer them any assistance they might need." Jonah had worked this much out with Johnston beforehand. "So far, we haven't had to go down this road."

"You expect it this time?" Eric asked, trying to make sure he understood everything.

"Let's just say I'm willing to admit there is more of a possibility of unsatisfactory answers here than elsewhere," Jonah wouldn't commit. He watched as Eric blinked at his careful statement. "I was an outlaw, Eric. Not the village idiot."

Eric opened his mouth to deny the thought had crossed his mind, but then just nodded and opened his hands, a nonverbal apology in the world of Jericho's men.

"You're forgiven for the mistake," the older man said, lips twitching into a half-smile. "Just don't make it again."

J*J*J*J*J*J

A bit after two, the men walked up the drive with Mrs. St. Xavier and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Darcy Hawkins asked, looking at the group on her doorstep. "Is there something wrong?" It was an automatic assumption. The kids were home, safe. She was fine. Maybe they needed to see Robert for something - who knew what.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hawkins. I was hoping we could speak with your husband, and your family, for a bit," Jonah said, using the manners he'd been taught and ignored unless it was to his advantage.

"Oh." Darcy was not pleased. "Just a minute. I'll get Robert."

She closed the door, leaving the group on the doorstep, which was not Jericho's style. They waited quietly on the porch until Robert Hawkins opened the door.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked, his slow drawl not matching his quick eyes.

"Just wanted to talk for a bit," Jonah said, stepping forward. He was going to be difficult. "Shouldn't take long."

"This is not a good time-" Robert began, not wanting to leave his programs up and running, but knowing it would be impossible for him to go downstairs without company if he let them in. And the new sheriff was crowding him already.

"This won't take long, Mr. Hawkins," Jonah replied, smiling easily. "Longer we stand here, the more time you lose."

With a smile that was more half-grimace, Robert opened the door and showed the group into the kitchen where Darcy and Allison were taking a pie out of the gas-to-wood oven.

"Darcy was just finishing a pie," he said, motioning to the smoky oven. "We were just fortunate to have gas."

"Smart conversion," Eric said, thinking of the cast iron stove his parents had in the mudroom-come-kitchenette. "Most people have had to go to the old Franklin stoves. Then again, most people had electric."

"Mr. Thompson was a purist," Laureanna said, smiling about the previous owners. "That's why he designed this house exactly like this - no renovations for him. Only replaced the roof with the same exact shades and better materials than it had been built with." She chuckled. "He'd be havin' a pure fit about this change, but even he would admit it was better than electric stoves."

Darcy smiled, but when she looked at Rob, her smile faded. Instead, she offered them a piece of pie.

"No thank you, Mrs. Hawkins," Marcus said smiling at her. "Appreciated, though."

"Well, at least some coffee," she insisted, not looking at Rob. "The kids don't like the coffee nearly as much as the pie," she said, more to Laureanna and Marcus than the others. The combination of the elderly lady and the man about her age made her more comfortable. It made Robert more wary.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins," Jonah said, accepting for them all. "Coffee is always appreciated."

She nodded, and she and Allison together began pulling down cups and saucers. She didn't have enough mugs for them all, but she did have a good set of china.

In a few minutes, the coffee was served and Robert was left alone in the kitchen with the group. The others had melted up the stairs without really speaking.

"So," Robert said, putting his coffee cup down and playing with the handle. "What is this really about?"

"Why did you move here?" Jonah asked, not bothering with a preamble.

"We had a death in the family, wound up inheriting some money from the will. I didn't like the school Allison was in, neither did Darcy, so we looked around and-"

"And came to a town most of Kansas forgets exists?" Jonah snorted. "I don't think so."

Eric gave Jonah a look. "What did you do in St. Louis, Mr. Hawkins?"

"I was a cop." Mitch and Jonah laughed. Robert looked at them, smiling in confusion. "I don't understand," he said.

"I know cops," Mitch said. "So does the Boss. You ain't a cop. You ain't never been a cop."

"How would you know?" Robert challenged, giving them his best inscrutable look.

"Call it a lifelong experience with the wrong side of a cop's attention," Jonah said, acknowledging his past and Mitch's in one fell swoop. "Now, what did you do and why did you really move here?"

"That is the truth. I have no idea why you insist upon questioning me - unless…" He trailed off and laughed. "Unless you think I'm the mastermind behind the biggest terrorist attack in the history of the world."

Jonah gave him a long look, but it was Marcus that spoke. "Nah. You're not that smart."

Marcus had moved around to the stove, looking over the way it had been put together. Not a bad job at all.

"And you've lied before," Jake added. "You're no more a pool guy than you are a cop."

"And you have an extensive knowledge of the police?" Robert asked, his voice sarcastic.

"Not exactly," Jake grinned, "but I'm not the poster child for virtue."

"I would like to speak to your wife, Mr. Hawkins," Laureanna said, interrupting the flow. "Where did that lovely girl get to?" Her sweet smile and genuine manner interrupted Robert's thoughts for a moment.

"She probably went upstairs with the children. We haven't had many visitors," he said, trying to explain away his wife's disappearance, something he had drilled into them.

"Then I am so surprised she didn't stay to talk about her new home!" Laureanna was a master of questioning reluctant people. She dealt with more awkward moments in her time as herbalist and midwife than Jonah had in years. "There's so much she needs to know about the way things have changed in the past week - I know I haven't seen her in town. Come to think of it, I haven't seen her at my office in the medical center either, and it is a good idea for her to come in."

"Darcy's fine - no colds or anything like it," Robert said, taking a sip of his coffee to try and come up with a way to handle this gentle invasion.

"Oh, no, honey!" Laureanna laughed. "No. I'm the midwife." Robert spat out his mouthful of coffee, back into the cup, thankfully. "And there have been more women comin' to me for alternative birth control than you could imagine." She gave him a wicked look, complete with twinkling black eyes. "For good reason. There's less to do now for entertainment than there was before the bombs - and I was busy then!"

Soft coughs took the place of laughter as Laureanna's dramatic statements filled the room. Robert was at a loss for words. It happened rarely, which was why he had been so successful in his job, but this woman made his instructors look like pansies.

"I'm…not sure if I should say I'm sorry for your busy times, or apologize for not having her down to see you sooner," Robert managed. "I'll call her down," he added, moving to stand.

"Oh, no need to yell," Laureanna said, motioning to Jake and Marcus. "Go up and ask nicely, honey," she said, making a shooing motion to the two men. There was nothing to do but comply.

Jonah looked at Robert. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have Mitch look around for a bit," he said, "nothing major."

"Except a violation of our civil rights," Robert said, bristling.

"Mr. Hawkins," Eric said softly, "I realize that this is unusual. We don't particularly care if you're on the run from a rather, ah, spotty past. We're not concerned about any unhealthy habits you or your family may have. That's not why we're here. If that's the case, the please, tell us. More than one outlaw has made good here, turned around. We have room for you here, I think. You've done so much to help us, but there have been some difficult questions regarding your sudden arrival."

"Sudden to you, perhaps," Robert said, realizing what he was being offered. "We had been planning this move for some time."

"How did you even know we were here?" Mitch asked. "It's not like we're famous or anything."

"Would you believe chance? Stuck a pin in a map?" Robert knew it wouldn't fly, but he had to try it.

"No." Jonah looked around. "Nothing around here is that random. And we don't appear on many U.S. maps. Actually," he thought for a minute. "We don't appear on any maps that are larger than the Tybee County map. The state atlas, the one used by truckers, has us on here, but we're nowhere close to the places people travel."

"Robert?" came the voice from the doorway, Darcy's face reflecting her concern.

"Dee," he replied. "These gentleman - and lady - would like to ask you a few questions."

"Oh. Of course," she said, turning to face the group. In the living room, Marcus and Jake were talking with Allison and Sam. Jake asked Allison how she was enjoying her lessons and which practicals she had while Sam chirped on about his drawings to Marcus, who was an old hand with children.

"Oh, I don't think you'd want this talk to be overheard by the menfolk, sweetheart," Laureanna said, giving her a knowing look. Darcy blinked, but the men were drifting out of the room. "Women's talk, you know…"

"Some things," Mitch said, relieved to get out of the kitchen, "I just don't need to hear." He made a mental note to have Emily go see Laureanna, though. He wasn't ready for children with her yet. Woah. That thought was not one he'd expected to pop up, and he couldn't afford the distraction right now. Forget Em - ha! - and get back to work. Focus, Mitch. Focus.

"Just out of curiosity," Jonah asked, glancing in and seeing his two charmers hard at work with the kids, "how did you manage to make sure all the gas lines were cleared before converting your stove? The tank feed is usually in the basement here, and the construction for this place is pretty standard."

"It wasn't hard, just-"

"And the hot water heater?" Mitch picked up, seeing the trend. "That's in the basement, right? Or do you have electric?"

"No, that's gas. I just thought that the water heater was better use than the stove for the fuel we had left. The conversion took some effort, but wasn't hard. I can show you," he gestured back toward the kitchen and the back of the house. He did not want to have to take them out.

"Need to check the welds," Jonah said, sensing weakness. He was hiding something. "Wouldn't want a leak to become a problem for you. Or carbon monoxide to build up - can be dangerous, you know, especially with keeping things closed up."

The men neatly bracketed Robert between them as they walked down the basement stairs. As soon as the door shut behind them, Jonah turned, his weapon loose in its holster and his hand ready.

"Don't screw this up. You're not stupid. I'm sure you've got weapons down here. I don't give a rat's ass if you're hiding something, I just need to make sure you're not going to screw this town over somehow. We have not worked our asses off to make contact with others and survive the winter just to get royally fucked over by someone who shouldn't be here."

"Boss," Mitch said, motioning to the room that was not hidden. The door was open and the light was on.

"Eric," Jonah said. Nothing more. Eric moved to check out the room, prompting a quickly checked move from Robert. "Problems?" he asked Robert.

Robert shook his head, knowing that this fight was one he couldn't win. Jonah, he thought he could take. Jonah and Mitch? With his family upstairs, potential hostages? No. He couldn't risk it.

"Cuff him," came Eric's voice from the room, low and hard. "Bring him in here."

Robert struggled briefly, but was still as his hands were cuffed behind his back. Mitch and Jonah were careful, though, and pulled up his sleeves as well, exposing several inches of his forearms. There was no way for him to try to pick the locks now, not without making it obvious what he was doing. They took him into the room, and jaws tightened as they looked around.

The map caught Jonah's attention. Twelve pins were sticking in the map. Denver. San Diego. Atlanta. Lawrence. Chicago. Detroit. Places he'd known or gone. Others, like Little Rock, he hadn't been.

"Interesting. Who's feeding you information?" Jonah walked around the desk. The computer was on. And partially open. "Internet access. Fancy computer you have here."

"Its ruggardized," Robert said, calling on his experience with hard questions in bad situations. "The government issues them."

"Federal, of course," Eric murmured. He was inspecting the rest of the room. Mitch opened the desk drawer.

"Woah." Jonah looked down at the drawer at Mitch's unprofessional assessment of what he discovered and saw dozens of identifications and a large amount of money. He opened a leather-covered wallet and saw Hawkins' picture with a different name. "Naval Intelligence? EPA? DOD? Army?"

"Talk." Jonah's one word sentence was enough for Robert. He knew the time would come, he just hadn't expected it to be so soon.

"I work for the CIA. I was chosen to go undercover in a certain group of specialists in an interdepartmental organization headed by Homeland Security. We were tracking terrorists who had somehow gotten hold of nuclear warheads."

"Stop," Jonah said. "Eric, go call everyone down here."

"No," Robert said, licking his lips. "I don't want Allison and Sam to…to know." He shook his head. "Or Darcy."

"Sorry," Jonah said, "but what you want right now isn't my main priority." He nodded to Eric and let Hawkins drop into the chair at the desk. The man looked defeated. Nonetheless, Mitch moved behind the man in cuffs and Jonah stayed in front of him.

"What is it you do?" he asked, breaking the tension and keeping Robert talking.

"Satellite installation…"

The group filed in slowly as Robert was speaking. He told about meeting the man while he was out with Darcy, the offer he couldn't refuse. The boy who'd been an FBI informant. The time he'd spent with Sarah. The years it had taken to become a part of the group. The failed attempt to warn the cities that had been targeted. The bomb he had been chosen to drive to Columbus.

The bomb he still had, hiding in the concrete addition he'd put in the basement.

Darcy, who had finally become reconciled to the idea that Robert was not impossible to live with, felt the tears running down her face.

"You brought that into our house?" she hissed, anger warring with horror.

"The lead shields it from the radiation, Dee. It's safe," he insisted. "I would never do it, Dee. Never. Had to get you safe-" He cut off as she walked over and slapped him.

"Safe?" Her voice grew stronger. Then she started a strangled-tears yell. "We were never safe with you! You left us. You disappeared for four years - Sam cried for days. Then you come back one day, my children in the cab of that damned truck and you take us out here. You knew. You knew everything, all of this, and you said NOTHING! No." She stepped back, shaking her head. "No more. We are not staying here, Robert. Come on, kids," she said, taking her children by the shoulders and pushing them toward the stairs.

"Dee-" Robert said, tears gathering in his eyes. He didn't have the opportunity to finish. Allison broke away from her mother at the door to her father's office.

"I love you, Dad," she said, her eyes worried. She looked at the other men. "My father's a good man." She didn't have time to say more.

"I love you, too, Baby," Robert rasped just Darcy came back and dragged her up the stairs. Sam was sniffling at the top of the basement stairs.

Jonah nodded to Jake, who unlocked the cuffs that held Robert's hands behind his back. Robert brought his hands to his eyes, but the tears wouldn't stop just yet.

"It wasn't my intention to destroy your marriage," Jonah said quietly. "I know it hurts, but she's a strong woman. With some time, she'll probably come around. But we have a much larger problem on our hands. A 20 kiloton problem that this house will not shield from anything that might be looking."

"Nowhere else to put it," Robert said, the change of subject allowing him to pull together enough to think about something other than losing his family again.

"There is a place," Laureanna said, her voice soft in the silence. "On the Perkins property are some caves. They go deep, but they're private land. Will it fit in a vault or safe?"

"Fits in a 55-gallon drum right now. It's unarmed," he said, quickly. "Never take the chance otherwise."

"Then we can talk to the Perkins and they'll let us put it in thicker lead and drop it deep. I don't know what kind of scans can be done, not after the EMP, but I'm sure someone can manage to sweep the area," Marcus' voice was a deep rumble after Laureanna's. "How many were there? Twenty-six?"

"Yeah," Robert said, wiping his face. No one commented on the display of emotion. No one would dare. Some things, even when shown publicly, were still private.

"But only twelve cities marked." Eric looked at the map and the fallout projections map. "D.C. isn't marked."

"Major target," Robert said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't bet on it surviving."

"If New York could manage to get their guys, maybe some of the others could, too." It was a hopeful comment from Jake, and Marcus nodded. "Big cities were the targets, mostly. Maybe some others managed to keep it from happening."

"Hope for the best," Jonah murmured. "Plan for the worst. Reality will fall somewhere between."

"Truer words were never spoken," said Laureanna. "Now, let's get a vault here. Marcus, come with me to talk to Perkins. Jake, Eric, you need to help Darcy and the children out - is there room at your father's?"

"Of course. They'll be safe there, and Mom will enjoy having the kids around." He dropped his hand to Robert's shoulder in a quiet gesture of sympathy. "Maybe she can work something out for you, Rob."

"Thanks, Jake, but you don't know Darcy when she gets like this."

Jonah chuckled. "You haven't met Gail Green."

"No, I don't believe I have," Robert mused, thinking about how well they had been received. If this got out… "But will she want to have me around once she knows-"

"We're only telling Dad right now," Eric said firmly. "When we start getting more information back about damage, and we will, we'll address the rest of it." He scrubbed his face with his hand. "Council will have to know before that, though. So will the Rangers Admin."

"Orders," Marcus said suddenly. "Were they written down? Ever?"

"Got everything on my computer," Robert said, "why?"

"Written orders for clandestine operations are your way out. Bring the computer to the bank. We'll hook up a printer and get every damned thing in there out and backed up." He gave the other government employee a long look. "Believe me, you will need it."

Robert started to object, but changed his mind. "How do you know that?"

"Recon Marines," Marcus replied, "among other things." He left it there, letting Jonah and Jake fill in the blanks for themselves. Jake raised his eyebrows and Jonah just nodded.

"Let's get moving, people," he said.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Seven hours later, after dark, a moving truck backed up to the front of the Hawkins' house and an old lead and steel vault was wheeled out. No one remarked upon it, since several large or valuable things had been moved from place to place recently. There was no suspicion when the truck headed out of town, toward the Perkins farm. Chances were it was a trade between Hawkins and Perkins, and no one objected to a reasonable trade.

Besides, Jonah had come and gone, no one the worse for wear. Granted, Darcy Hawkins and her children had left the house with luggage, but she had probably learned something unpleasant and would forgive her husband soon. Or leave him. Either way, since the Greens were taking them in - Eric Green was driving them to his parents' house, or so Jake mentioned to Mr. Peabody - nothing seriously wrong could be going on. No, it was likely something that she'd learned about Robert's younger days.

The rest of the people on the street curled up safely in their beds, their thoughts focused on the next day and Sunday services at their choice of the two churches. Father Xavier was holding three masses at the Catholic church, and Reverend Thomas was holding morning and evening service at the Episcopalian church. The population of Jericho was split half-and-half, thanks to the Jesuit teachers that had established the first school in Jericho and the original settlers. Clarinda St. Xavier had been Catholic, and when the opportunity had come for the school she really wanted to be established by the most academic of the Roman Catholic orders, she'd leapt at it. The Episcopalians had grumbled, but the Clarinds, Perkinses, St. Xaviers, and others who had come with Widow Clarinda had been thrilled. The Jesuits would teach any who wanted to learn; they did not, even then, segregate their classes.

Marcus spoke quietly to Robert as he left behind the others.

"Don't know if you're religious, but Father Xavier listens and he doesn't talk-even if you're not Catholic."

Robert nodded. "Thanks, but, ah, I don't know."

"Better than keeping it all in," Marcus said softly. "Don't always have a choice, though, and the seal of the confessional is absolute." Marcus extended his hand.

Robert shook Marcus' hand and said only, "I'll think about it."


	30. The Days After: 46 through 47

**Timeline: ** Bombs + 46, 47

**Disclaimer:** Jericho is not mine, never was, and never shall be; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, writing for fun. Don't sue.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Jonah walked into the secured farmhouse that served as Death Row. The five men who were waiting for their execution to occur were not surprised to see him. They were surprised to see the men accompanying Jonah. They waited calmly and quietly while the men arranged themselves in the chairs provided. No one spoke.

It would be expected for Goetz and his other unfortunate miscreants to attempt a break-out. That was how the fifth man had earned his place in the line for execution. The first attempt at execution had been Goetz's idea. He and the other three men had been successful in escaping from the old farmhouse. They had been greeted by a ready group of Jericho Rangers, subdued a bit more forcefully than necessary, but had decided that attempting to escape would not be well-received. The Rangers informed the four men that they had received shoot-on-sight orders, should another attempt to escape be made by any of them.

The fifth man, one who had chosen loyalty to Goetz over living a longer and productive life, had broken into the farmhouse only to be met with the refusal of the others to leave - the original four had been sporting some bruises and one had received a concussion - that he had been taken, tried, and convicted. The fifth man had also been warned of the shoot-on-sight for escapees, and none had tried the resolve of the Rangers since.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Jonah greeted them. He had been raised to be civil at least.

"Sheriff," Goetz said, returning the greeting. He did not speak to the men accompanying Jonah.

"This is the second and last Sunday you will have the opportunity to attend a Sunday service. Reverend Michaels and Father Xavier have agreed to provide a mass for you, Last Rites, and confession." Jonah paused, then continued, "Do you prefer a Catholic mass or an Episcopalian service?"

Goetz was quiet. After everything he'd survived, he hadn't been able to believe that he was really going to die. It had been exactly two weeks since his capture, trial, and conviction. The presence of the priests this Sunday afternoon had brought home to him his own mortality.

"Protestant," he whispered, his voice nearly gone from his sudden realizations. "We're all Protestant." Heads around the room nodded, eyes were losing their hardness, and the men were unable to speak clearly at the moment.

"Very well," Father Xavier said, standing. "Reverend, I will assist, if you would like me to?" Reverend Michaels didn't have the chance to reply.

"I was raised Catholic," one of the men blurted out. It was Timms. "Father, I…could I…is it too late?" he managed.

Father Xavier gave Timms a sad smile. "It's never too late to return," he reassured the man. "Reverend, Sheriff, we'll be in the next room."

With that, Father Xavier led Timms into the adjoining room and began to prepare for a mass, a reconciliation, and Extreme Unction. His heart was heavy with the reality of the situation, but he was also certain that this must happen in order to save more lives - innocent lives. It had not been that long ago, as history runs, that the Church had been in the business of war herself. The Church had moved away from that past, for many good reasons, but the death penalty still existed in many countries. Many of those countries did not have a truly codified law that was consistently enforced, justly enforced, or even a real justice system.

No, the death penalty was not a part of the justice system that the Jesuits advocated, normally, if at all. Father Xavier had been examining his conscience in this situation and had come to one decision for the several questions he had to consider: These men must be allowed, at the very least, the services of the Church and it would not be in the last hour. To this end, he had cornered Jonah and, even phrased kindly, bludgeoned the man into allowing this extended visit. With words, of course. With words.

Jonah walked into the room with Timms and Father Xavier.

"Yes, Sheriff?" Father Xavier asked.

"A mass for two isn't much different, Father," Jonah said, his voice quiet. It would be the first mass he had attended since Chris's First Communion, so many years ago.

Father Xavier gave Jonah a long look and finally nodded. "If Timms does not object," he said, cautioning Jonah that he would not tolerate any form of force in this.

"No, Father," Timms said, surprise giving him voice, "no objections." He looked at Jonah and seemed confused.

"Very well, then," Father Xavier set out his materials. "We will begin with Reconciliation," he said, eyeing the two men. "Sheriff, if you would step outside."

Jonah gave the priest a wry smile and agreed. He knew the sacrament well and had avoided it even better. He was well past the last expiration date.

"I will forego the Eucharist, Father," he replied. At Father Xavier's raised eyebrow, Jonah explained. "Nearly four decades needs a bit more time."

Father Xavier choked as the older man walked calmly to the door.

J*J*J*J*J*J

A short time later, Father Xavier indicated that Jonah could return to the room and the mass began soon after that. Without the hymns and the long lines for Communion and the offerings, the mass was much shorter. The homily was also much shorter, focusing upon the man who was facing his last day.

Jonah again left the room for the final rite, Extreme Unction, commonly called Last Rites & Anointing of the Sick.

Jonah thought back to the last time he had been so close to this particular sacrament. That, too, had been in Vietnam, and he had been on the receiving end of the sacrament, thanks to Father Cappodano*. While he had been hospitalized, he had spoken with the priest several times. Though the man's goodness hadn't transferred, Jonah had never forgotten his attention and kindness. Obviously Jonah hadn't died of the infection he'd gotten from his wounds, but his eyes had been very light sensitive since, his back had a constant low-level ache he had simply learned to live with, and his stomach could be volatile.

Even though he would be ultimately responsible for the deaths of these men, he would not deny them this. He would be the one tying the knots, placing the nooses around their necks, pulling the lever on the gallows. The only reason for the delay had been the design, placement, and building of the gallows.

Jonah had been required to study the way to tie the noose and where to place it so that the necks snapped cleanly. He had done so quietly, without any production or public dissemination. This was a part of his job. He would not shrink from it.

For this alone, he would speak with Father Xavier.

For the rest of his forty years of sin unrepented, for the murders he had committed or helped to commit, he would speak to Father Xavier.

He wasn't sure if he could be absolved of all he had done.

Ultimately, that was irrelevant to his current position in town: So long as he was Sheriff of Jericho, he would do as was required of him.

No matter how much it hurt.

J*****=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+*****J

Early on Monday morning, Jonah walked to the gallows on the edge of town. He checked the construction, the lever, and the ropes. The execution would be at noon.

Jonah wondered how many people would come to witness it.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

*Historical note: Father Cappodano really existed. He was known as "the Grunt Padre", was well-respected by the men with whom he served, and served in the 1st Medical Battalion. That is where Jonah would have met him, however briefly, if Jonah were real. Jonah is fictional; Father Cappodano was not. He worked with Marines in Vietnam; biography is titled The Grunt Padre.


	31. The Days After: 47

**Timeline:** Bombs + 47

**Warning:** Execution scene.

**A/N: **Made up large chunks of ceremony/protocol. If I got it close to reality, yay for me. If I didn't, well, it reads pretty good… This one I actually proofed.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Randy Peyton looked at the young woman across the table. It was early enough for breakfast, but late enough that they'd already completed a few quick chores.

"Are you going to the hanging?" Christine asked, wondering if he even knew about it.

"I…I don't know," Randy said, looking back down at his plate. "Probably. I mean, I worked with them. I think all the guys are going down there. Maybe."

"Were…were you close?" She took a bite of canned peaches and toast. Randy was eating eggs and breakfast chicken, something she'd never considered before.

"No. I was new to his group. Some of the others had been with him in Iraq and Afghanistan, though. It's…weird. Like something out of a movie," he finished. It was hard to imagine, that an execution by hanging was the method that five men he knew would use exit this world. Felt like an old western movie. Felt like he'd been thrown over a hundred years into the past, but he knew better.

"Yeah," Christine agreed. "Weird, but…there's worse."

The look they traded was one that Randy had learned to respect from these girls. Maybe they were a lot younger, but they'd seen as much as he had, only they experienced it. He had been a witness.

Understanding why he'd been put in this house with these girls and old people had taken about two days. Now he simply accepted that was the way it was. At least the younger ones weren't cringing around him anymore. Christine would actually touch his hand or his arm. He wasn't jumping out of his skin when she did, either.

Most people wouldn't understand, but they all knew it was progress on a massive scale.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Aylah looked at Jonah as he ate a light breakfast.

"You need to have more. I know you won't eat lunch," she said, the others long gone to their jobs for the day. No one was in the dining room at the office now. He'd already gone out to test the gallows, returned, and slipped back in bed next to Aylah. She'd been considerate enough to pretend she hadn't noticed.

Jonah sat back in his chair. He knew she was right, but his stomach was unsteady this morning. He would have to have something in about two hours, and no matter how bad it was at noon, he would have to eat again shortly afterward. Maybe by the evening he'd be settled.

Of course, tonight was the meeting with Father Xavier in the confessional. Somehow, he doubted that would ease his stomach.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Johnston and Gail faced each other across the table. Neither one spoke. As Johnston's hand rested on the table, Gail placed her hand over his. The look he gave her was calm, sure, and sad. In her eyes, he saw the reason for this execution and the gentle understanding she had always given him in times when he needed it most.

Johnston was not a man of many words. Gail tended to speak too often and too quickly. Both knew there were times words would never be sufficient. The silence between them now was enough.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Upstairs at the Green house, April pulled on her clothes for the day, each movement slow and reluctant. She and Doc Hallowell would pronounce the deaths as soon as they could, but they would have to be absolutely certain.

Between the baby and the day she was facing, she had already lost the little breakfast she had managed to choke down.

How much more could she stand?

J*J*J*J*J*J

Skylar rode to the mine for the early morning business. Carmichael and the other supervisors were present when she arrived. Usually, they filed in around half-past. It wasn't even 8:00 yet.

"Should I guess?" she asked, standing in the doorway to her office.

"It's about this afternoon, ma'am," Jenkins said. "Several of us were in the Rogue. We helped to bury those poor people. I know it's the first hanging in Jericho since 1927, and I don't like it anymore than anyone else here," he paused for a breath, "but I'd like to attend."

Skylar Stevens looked around the room. The same desire was written on each face. It wasn't a bloodthirsty look; it was more like a desire to see a bad experience finally end. If these men, the supers and her partner, wanted to go, then the miners would want to go as well. In fact, even if these men didn't want to go, the miners had probably already spoken to them and they were voicing their workers' opinions as their own. In truth, she though she should also attend. Jonah had warned her of the reality of such an execution, but she knew she had to live every part of this life, no matter how strange or difficult. If she stepped aside, stopped the process of assimilation and adaptation, she wouldn't be able to continue as she was.

As the Greeks said, _γνοθι σεαυτον_. That had been a part of her Western Civilization class in 9th grade-famous quotes and where to find them. The Oracle at Delphi had that warning carved over the entrance to the temple. In the Latin Miss Maddie had forcefully implanted in the schools and she had already taken for 3 years, _nosce te ipsvm_. There were secondary language choices of Attic Greek, Spanish, French, American Sign Language, English Exact (also sign language), and Irish Gaelic, even though everyone had at least one year of Latin. Each student could choose two other languages to learn, non-credit classes generally held during study hall, but they would have at least one year of only Latin. Lisa had chosen Spanish as her second, but even with her mother teaching her the language at home, Latin was the foreign language Lisa had listed on her transcript. Perhaps she shouldn't say it was Miss Maddie's insistance that had Latin as the staple foreign language of all high school students. That was more the early Jesuit influence on the one school in Jericho - the town couldn't afford a private school, too. In truth, it was because of these influences and the small size of the town that Jericho had one of the best schools in the area, if not the tri-state region.

_Know thyself._ Skylar had always dismissed this as an ancient Greek way of confusing people and sounding smarter than everyone else. Now she began to understand it. Know who you are, what you are, how to change in order to become what you need to be. And she had been silent too long.

"The mine will be closed at eleven this morning. All deliveries will be made this morning or Tuesday morning, which means that tomorrow will not be the usual Tuesday routine. We will meet for the week on Tuesday morning, at 8-o'clock. For today, priority shipments are to be made first. That's the medical center and Laureanna's shipment." She paused. "Are there any immediate concerns? Other than the execution?" Her voice was calm and quiet.

"Not today, Miss Stevens," Carmichael said, realizing the steel that was forming in Skylar and hoping that Lisa would be just as strong, as able. Maybe a bit more of Jonah's presence would help Lisa, too, even if he would have to fight with his Teresa in order to let their daughter go. "Though there may be some reasons to meet tomorrow morning. We're all going direct to shiftwork."

"Very well," she said, moving to her desk. "In that case, I have calls to make and I'll go over the books this morning. Gentlemen," she nodded, standing behind her desk, a dismissal and acknowledgement worthy of her father. For those who had known him, it was a gesture her father had picked up from his own father. Skylar used it just as effectively as they had.

"Ma'am," several men said as they walked out the back door. Nods accompanied their exits, and Skylar only sat after the door was closed.

In the privacy of her office, she closed her eyes. The red and white and rust-brown and cool blue-green and horror of the corridor in Rogue River Hospital swam before her. She could almost smell them.

With an act of will, Skylar turned and opened her schedule. She lifted the telephone receiver and dialed the four-digit extension for Jericho Clinic.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Tobias, Lisa, and Leon heard from Carmichael that the mine would be closed as of eleven. They decided to take their clipboards and the parts they had brought today, compare and contrast their needs and current supplies, and create a list of things to get together before they started real work on the unit.

They could finish the tear-down with the tools they had, but they would definitely need others when they began to rebuild. Between the list of parts and tools, they could put a more accurate timeframe on the repair of the unit, but there was always the potential for disaster.

When Tobias stepped away from them for a bit to get a drink of water and stretch his aging legs, Leon asked Lisa, "You going?" He didn't need to clarify where or when. The same subject was all anyone could think of today.

"Yeah," Lisa replied, her voice soft. "I keep thinking this is some sort of nightmare."

Leon gave her a sad smile. "I'd offer to pinch you, but we both know it would just hurt."

Lisa returned the smile, her dark eyes unsure. _"Caminare conmigo?"_ she asked suddenly, then blushing at her request. That was almost a command. _"Por favor, caballero?" _It was awkward for her, one of the social queens of her age group. So she reverted to more formal language, then wondered if she'd screwed up because there was no guarantee that an Hispanic male spoke Spanish, much less formal Spanish.

"_Naturalmente, doña,"_ he replied, carefully formal. _"Si que usted esperé."_ *

Lisa hid her surprise that his accent was not the Castillian she'd heard all her life from her mother, but it was an upper-class Californian Spanish. The differences were easy to hear, but the distinction was lost on most people. The Spanish they were speaking was not the same as the Mexican dialect. It was older, more true to the original language of Spain. Maybe her mother wouldn't pitch a fit if she brought Leon home. Wait. Who was she kidding? Her mother was holding out for her to marry someone of consequence. To be seen socially with Leon was not on Teresa Gutierrez de Carmichael's list of things for her only child to do.

"_Muchas gracias, Leon,"_ she replied, her eyes closing in relief. At least she wouldn't be alone there. And her mother could just deal with it.

Leon watched as she visibly put aside thoughts of the afternoon and turned back to the task at hand. Kind sir? He hadn't been called any form of honorific in years. Not since his family had disowned him. Not that it mattered anymore. They had lived in San Diego. Leon da Silva was now alone, something that he had never believed possible. But he wouldn't be alone this afternoon. It was something.

J*J*J*J*J*J

By eleven-thirty, all activity in Jericho had ceased. Most of the town, excepting small children and those staying to take care of them, walked or rode to the edge of town.

Jonah, with the prisoners, his four deputies, the town lawyer, and a contingent of Rangers, escorted the prisoners to the gallows on the west side of town. They were driven in a pickup truck to within fifty feet of the gallows. Shackled and chained, the men dropped from the open bed to the ground, balancing easily, but with a man ready to steady anyone who faltered.

Johnston, standing by the gallows, nodded to Jonah.

J*J*J*J*J*J

It was time. Jonah saw Johnston's nod and walked back to the prisoners.

Goetz, Timms, Hanford, Voorhees, and Burkett walked up the steps of the gallows and stood in a line under the beam. The nooses dangled before them in a straight line. Each man's eyes were trained on the rope circle before him. They did not notice the crowd.

Jonah and Johnston mounted the steps behind the convicts, Jonah walking to stand beside the first man, Paul Goetz. Commander Serena Givens, the representative of the military tribunal and the Tybee Rangers, was beside Johnston.

"Commander," Johnston said, handing the moment to the head of the military tribunal.

"Paul Goetz, Jason Timms, Malachai Hanford, Toby Voorhees, and Aryeh Burkett, you have been duly tried by a military tribunal in accordance with the Uniform Code of Military Justice governing private contractors and the dispensation of justice in the discourse of your stated duties as contracted by the United States Armed Services. You have been tried and found guilty of multiple counts of murder." She paused. "You have been sentenced to death for this crime." Her voice was clear and factual, as though she were simply reading orders to her office staff. In a way, that was exactly what she was doing. Serena Givens had been in the position of making difficult decisions and carrying out orders she did not like before, but she knew well that liking her duties was not part of her commitment to her nation. That the entire town was listening was no matter, it was like reading herself into her commands before her entire command.

Johnston stepped forward and spoke, his voice calm and loud, no matter the volume was low.

"Paul Goetz, Jason Timms, Malachai Hanford, Toby Voorhees, and Aryeh Burkett, in accordance with the sentence handed down from the courtsmartial, you will be hanged by the neck until dead." Johnston stopped speaking for a moment. "Do you have any last words?"

"I do," Goetz replied. He was the only one that spoke, Burkett, Voorhees, and Timms shook their heads. Hanford simply looked straight ahead, giving no indication he had heard anything.

"Very well," Johnston said, stepping back.

"I have fought overseas for different reasons, mostly money, for years. I learned not to care for anyone or anything. When we were given the assignment to work with FEMA and the National Guard to secure any survivors in the Contaminated Zones, I took the orders and changed them to benefit me and my men first." He stopped, his voice getting choked. He cleared his throat. "I altered the methods permitted to us in order to prevent any opposition to my own desires. I, and I alone, authorized the use of lethal force against any who opposed us - including men of my command. I, Paul Goetz, was in command of this unit and I alone am responsible for the deaths of the people in Rogue River." He turned to face the mayor and commander. "Let my men go," he rasped. "They followed my orders, under the threat of injury or execution."

Serena Givens, Johnston Green, and Jonah Prowse looked at one another. They had discussed the possibility, remote though it was, of just such an action. Commander Givens admitted that it would actually improve her opinion of Goetz. None of them had expected anything like a conscientious statement of culpability from this man. Jonah finally spoke.

"Mr. Goetz, you were the commander. You were in charge of your unit and the orders you gave were expected to be followed; however, the men under your command are responsible for their own actions."

Serena Givens continued. "As commander, the burden of command and the responsibility for your men and their actions falls upon you; however, it was their responsibility, as your subordinates, to refuse illegal orders. In carrying out these orders, knowing they were illegal, and in doing so without remorse or objection, they committed a crime almost as heinous as yours." Her lips pinched tight for a moment, then she continued. "Mayor Green, may I put to the question the men named Jason Timms, Malachai Hanford, Toby Voorhees, and Aryeh Burkett?"

"Do as you must, Commander," Johnston replied. He turned to the crowd. "Will the members of the courtmartial please come forward to hear testimony given under the shadow of the gallows?"

A mixed group of nine men and women stepped forward, Eric included as co-counsel for the defendants. Two more women and one man, the protocol officers, also stepped forward. They climbed the steps to the gallows from the side and stood facing the men in question.

Serena walked to Burkett first.

"Mr. Burkett, your commander of Ravenwood Unit 517, Paul Goetz, has assumed responsibility of altering orders to the detriment of American citizens and to enlisting cooperation of the men in his command through intimidation and promise of violence, including death. As second-in-command, were you aware of these alterations and threats?"

"I was not aware of the altered orders, ma'am, but I was aware of the other." His voice was harsh with the effort to hold back his tears. "I followed his orders willingly, ma'am. Even though I didn't know they were changed, I still did everything. And I did it gladly. I'm sorry, ma'am, Paul, but I don't deserve to live." He couldn't help it. Paul was trying to save their lives again, at the expense of his own. Aryeh loved his commander for that, but he wouldn't leave Goetz now. They'd been through too much together. Ten years of watching each other's backs, and he wouldn't stop now.

"Very well." Serena turned to the men and women before the prisoners. She first addressed the protocol officers. "Was this man, Aryeh Burkett, duly questioned?"

"He was," answered a younger woman, a sergeant in the Air Force Reserve.

"And was he given ample opportunity to answer, in accordance with the rule of Gallows Testimony?"

"He was."

Serena turned to the lawyers for the defendants. "Counsel, you have heard the statement of Mr. Burkett. Have you anything to add?"

"A moment, ma'am," Eric said, "with Mr. Burkett." Serena nodded and stepped away. When she was a few feet away, Eric spoke quietly with Burkett. "Do you realize what you are saying? That if you confirm your statements, there is no turning back."

"I understand. You did your best for me, even though you knew what I'd done. I appreciate it. But it's time." His eyes were oddly calm. "I ain't done much right in my life. This time, I am, and I know the cost."

Eric nodded. He looked down and walked back to his previous position with his co-counsel, Mitzi Treadaway. She may not have good judgement about which man to support in politics, but she was a damned good lawyer and would fight a buzzsaw for her clients. She and Eric had fought hard for the men, but they had known it was a losing fight. Their opponents had been involved in writing some parts of the UCMJ, updating and revising the original text to reflect the changes of the past twenty years. In all, Eric and Mitzi had been outclassed and outfought, in addition to having the handicap of knowing their clients were absolutely guilty.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the courtmartial," Serena said addressing the other members of the court, "you have heard the final testimony of Aryeh Burkett. Does this additional information in any way alter or commute the sentence given him?" Serena was the head of the tribunal, meaning she was the officer in charge of the running of the court and spoke for the final decision of the court itself. The two other judges listened, considered points of law and evidence. The testimony and evidence was heard by the members of a seven-man jury, all members of the armed services in good standing; in this case, reservists or retirees.

The group faced inward and took a quick vote. They turned, and a young man, also a reservist, spoke for them all.

"No, ma'am, it does not."

"Very well." Serena turned to Burkett. "In light of your testimony and the information we have received from your commander, Paul Goetz, the setence of death for the crimes you have committed still stands. Have you any last words?"

"Only that I wish I hadn't done it, and that I got a lot more that I should've paid for a long time ago. I can't bring 'em back or change it, and I'm sorry." He managed the last as his voice closed off. Tears were standing in his eyes, but his shoulders were back and he faced forward. In the last two weeks, he had come to the realization that he would not continue his existence as a mercenary or anything else, but he would face his death as a man, not a merc. It was the way he could have lived, but chose not to.

The moment stretched on, and Serena turned to the next man.

"Mr. Voorhees, your commander of Ravenwood Unit 517, Paul Goetz, has assumed responsibility of altering orders to the detriment of American citizens and to enlisting cooperation of the men in his command through intimidation and promise of violence, including death. As a member of his unit, were you aware of these alterations and threats?"

"I was not aware of either, ma'am." He took a deep breath. "I followed his orders, ma'am. Sometimes I asked Paul if he really wanted us to do this, but when he said yes, I did it. There were some that wouldn't go along, but that didn't last long. I knew what could happen if I refused, 'cause I'd seen it done." He paused, then blurted, "Nobody planned what happened at the hospital, ma'am. I don't even know how it started, but I know I fired, too, and people died." It was more information than he had provided on the stand, but the gist of it was the same.

"Very well." Serena turned to the men and women before the prisoners. She first addressed the protocol officers. "Was this man, Toby Voorhees, duly questioned?"

"He was," answered a younger woman, a sergeant in the Air Force Reserve.

"And was he given ample opportunity to answer, in accordance with the rule of Gallows Testimony?"

"He was."

Serena turned to the lawyers for the defendants. "Counsel, you have heard the statement of Mr. Voorhees. Have you anything to add?"

"We ask that his testimony be given due consideration," Mitzi Treadaway said, looking Serena in the eyes.

Serena nodded, then turned to the group. "Ladies and gentlemen of the courtmartial," Serena said addressing the other members of the court, "you have heard the final testimony of Toby Voorhees. Does this additional information in any way alter or commute the sentence given him?"

The group faced inward and took a vote. They reached a decision and the same young man spoke.

"Ma'am, we ask that Mr. Voorhees' sentence be commuted and a new sentencing be held in light of the admissions made by his commanders."

"Very well." Serena turned to Jonah. "Sheriff, please place this man in custody pending a new sentencing, to be held no later than one week from today."

Jonah walked over, took Voorhees by the arm and walked him down the steps to the deputies stationed there. Voorhees would remain for the hangings, but he would be returned to the farmhouse until the new sentence was determined. He walked back up the stairs, unable to decide if he was glad of this change or not.

The questioning continued with Hanford.

"Mr. Hanford, your commander of Ravenwood Unit 517, Paul Goetz, has assumed responsibility of altering orders to the detriment of American citizens and to enlisting cooperation of the men in his command through intimidation and promise of violence, including death. As a member of his unit, were you aware of these alterations and threats?"

"No ma'am, I did not know." Hanford looked at his commander, a man who'd saved his life more times and in more ways than he could count. He looked back at Serena before he spoke again. "I followed his orders, ma'am. Some guys wouldn't go along, but I did. Those that didn't weren't with us long, and the handful that managed to gut it out weren't well-liked or well-treated. Maybe it says something about me that I followed a man who kept me alive, even when I knew he was doing things and giving orders that were wrong. Because of the time we'd spent together, usually in bad places, I'd just follow the orders he gave. I stopped thinking about right and wrong, ma'am, and I didn't regret it until now." He paused. "I'm not askin' for anything, Commander Givens. I'll take what's comin' to me."

"Very well." Serena turned to the men and women before the prisoners. She first addressed the protocol officers. "Was this man, Toby Voorhees, duly questioned?"

"He was," answered a younger woman, a sergeant in the Air Force Reserve.

"And was he given ample opportunity to answer, in accordance with the rule of Gallows Testimony?"

"He was."

Serena turned to the lawyers for the defendants. "Counsel, you have heard the statement of Mr. Voorhees. Have you anything to add?"

"A moment with Mr. Hanford," Mitzi Treadaway said.

She and Eric walked over to Malachai Hanford. "Do you realize that you have asked that your sentence remain the same?" she asked him, Eric as her witness and co-counsel.

"I know, Mrs. Treadaway. I know. I'm due, and I know it. Done too much wrong to right it now." He shrugged as well as he could with his hands cuffed behind him. "Now I won't be lookin' at shadows, wonderin' when my time's comin'." He paused for a minute. "I know I said I wasn't asking for anything, but I'd like to hear one song before I go."

"What is it?" Eric asked, pulling a paper and small notepad from his coat pocket.

"It's a LeDoux song," he said, knowing the Western artist was well known around town. "'Hairtrigger Colt .44'. It's sad, but it's pretty much right. I'd like the same thing on my tombstone, too, if we're getting stones."

"We'll get it," Mitzi said. "I'll send a Runner for it now." The Runners were the Ranger messengers, the ones who knew the town and area so well that they could get messages from one side of town to the other in moments, especially for sensitive things or supplies. They stepped back, nodding to Serena that they were done. The sad smile they got from Hanford didn't ease their minds or hearts.

Serena nodded, then turned to the group. "Ladies and gentlemen of the courtmartial," Serena said addressing the other members of the court, "you have heard the final testimony of Malachai Hanford. Does this additional information in any way alter or commute the sentence given him?"

The group faced inward again for a vote. Again, they turned and the same the young man spoke.

"No, ma'am, it does not."

"Very well." Serena turned to Burkett. "In light of your testimony and the information we have received from your commander, Paul Goetz, the sentence of death for the crimes you have committed still stands. Have you any last words?"

"Only the song I asked Mr. Green and Mrs. Treadaway to get for me," he said. "Please play it one time before…" He paused, then said plainly, "Before I die."

"We shall," she said, turning to Treadaway. "Mrs. Treadaway?"

"The Runner will be here with it momentarily, ma'am." There was always at least three Runners at Town Hall, ready and able to move.

"Very well." She turned to the last man.

"Mr. Timms, your commander of Ravenwood Unit 517, Paul Goetz, has assumed responsibility of altering orders to the detriment of American citizens and to enlisting cooperation of the men in his command through intimidation and promise of violence, including death. As a member of his unit, were you aware of these alterations and threats?"

"No ma'am." Timms, thought for a long moment. "I followed his orders, ma'am. Sometimes I even liked it. Sometimes I didn't. Guess I went too far with some things, but I never intended to do anything like…like what happened at the hospital. When someone started firing, I fired, too. Been so long in the bad areas that I forgot that the same rules don't apply here. There were a few times that I didn't go along, that I stayed behind when a smaller group was going for things I wouldn't do. Took a fight with Goetz to get him to stop tryin' to get to me when I refused the first few times. After a while, when I didn't change my mind or go along, Goetz stopped askin' me, and I didn't volunteer." He paused. "I didn't try to stop the others, though. Then these last few weeks, I did more than usual and I know I shouldn't have, but I'm willing to take whatever decision is made by the courtmartial."

"Very well." Serena turned to the men and women before the prisoners. She first addressed the protocol officers. "Was this man, Jacob Timms, duly questioned?"

"He was," answered a younger woman, a sergeant in the Air Force Reserve.

"And was he given ample opportunity to answer, in accordance with the rule of Gallows Testimony?"

"He was."

Serena turned to the lawyers for the defendants. "Counsel, you have heard the statement of Mr. Timms. Have you anything to add?"

"We ask that his testimony be given due consideration," Eric said, watching Serena's reactions. She was not, as he first believed, unmoved by this. The longer this went on, the harder it was for her, but she was completing her duties as she must. It had been so easy, six months ago, to forget that she had been an officer in the Navy, but now he could see the strength and steadiness that had made her a good officer. She wouldn't give up or give in.

Serena nodded, then turned to the group. "Ladies and gentlemen of the courtmartial," Serena said addressing the other members of the court, "you have heard the final testimony of Jacob Timms. Does this additional information in any way alter or commute the sentence given him?"

The group faced inward and, after a minute of almost silent debate, took a vote. They had new information that hadn't been in Timms' original testimony. They reached a decision and the same young man spoke.

"Ma'am, we would like to approach Mr. Goetz," he said. Serena raised her eyebrows.

"Protocol?" she asked, turning to the three protocol officers.

"It is permissible, ma'am, but it is also private. What is asked and answered, what is said, cannot be heard by others." This from the older protocol officer.

"Lt. Bain, the prisoner is yours," she said, walking to stand beside Jonah.

Lt. Bain and the rest of the jury pool walked over to Goetz. They formed a tight circle around him and spoke for a few minutes. Serena could see Goetz nod, then shake his head as he spoke, but his words were muffled.

When the group stepped away and returned to their side of the gallows, Lt. Bain spoke for the last time.

"Ma'am, we ask that Mr. Timms' sentence be commuted and a new sentencing be held in light of the admissions made by his commanders."

"Very well." Serena turned to Jonah. "Sheriff, please place this man in custody pending a new sentencing, to be held no later than one week from today."

Jonah walked over, took Timms by the arm and walked him down the steps to the deputies stationed there. Timms stood by Voorhees and would share the wait until the new sentencing. With Timms and Voorhees watching from captivity and the rest of the group that had been called Ravenwood Unit 517, including Randy Peyton, watching from the crowd, it was almost time for his part - the preparation and execution. First, though the last request would be granted.

A Runner jogged up to the gallows carrying a battery-operated boombox and a CD. The last request of Malachai Hanford was about to be granted. It was a matter of moments to set up and find the correct song on the CD. The first haunting notes, the first line completely altering the way that most people had thought of the song before - and everyone had heard it at least once.

"I'm a man who's goin' to hell with heaven's blessing  
The judge said I'm not fit to live with men  
They're building me a gallows in the courtyard  
To make sure I don't pass this way again

My first taste of killin' was at Vicksburg  
I must have shot me a hundred men  
I learned to make my livin' with a six-gun  
I'm an outlaw now but I was a hero then

Oh, Lord if I had only known the misery  
That glory's somethin' not worth killin' for  
I wish now I had never touched the handle  
Of a hairtrigger Colt .44

I was a hunted desperado  
A wanted man with a price on my head  
I thought that I could steal a taste of freedom  
But I got me a hangman's noose instead

Oh, Lord, if I had only known the misery  
That glory's somethin' not worth killin' for  
I wish now I had never touched the handle  
Of a hairtrigger Colt .44

Undertaker, write on my tombstone  
'A killer finally killed' and nothin' more  
I wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for Providence  
And a hairtrigger Colt .44

Oh, Lord, if I had only known the misery  
That glory's somethin' not worth killin' for  
I wish now I had never touched the handle  
Of a hairtrigger Colt .44

Oh, Lord, if I had only known the misery  
That glory's somethin' not worth killin' for  
I wish now I had never touched the handle  
Of a hairtrigger Colt .44"

Perfect silence greeted the end of the song, the last crying notes of the guitar fading into the wind. Into this silence, the steady footsteps of the sheriff could be heard.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Paul Goetz looked at the crowd, seeing them for the first time. There was none of the hunger or anger or even perverse joy that historians and writers had recorded for years. All he could see was a group of people, the same people he had hurt, swindled, lied to, and killed in other towns. The faces had blurred together, the voices, the pleas, echoed in his ears, even though this crowd was silent. They weren't eager for these next moments. If anything, the people of this town were fully aware of what this meant, what this would cost them as a group and individually. But they were still here.

Goetz felt an odd sense of humility, that these people would witness his death. He was honoured that they considered his final moments worthy of breaking the workheavy routines he knew they needed to survive these new times.

Yes, he was about to die. Yes, here was the sheriff, placing a hood over his head, and yes, there was the noose, draped over his head and snugged up to his neck.

In the last moments before the trapdoor dropped, Paul Goetz felt an odd sense of peace.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah walked up to Goetz and placed the hood over his head. The hood wasn't for Goetz, it was for the crowd. It was a matter of moments to secure the noose in place, just snug enough, with the knot just so. He hoped that he'd gotten the angles correct, since to misjudge the placement of the knot would mean that the neck did not break. Then a slow strangulation would begin, and Jonah could not bring himself to do that to these men.

Whatever they had done before, they were facing death as men who had accepted responsibility for their actions. He had to respect that and to drag this execution out would only make him more like they had been than he already was. Once he wouldn't have cared. Now, he had something to lose, something inside himself that he was selfish enough to want to keep.

Had there been a Ravenwood in the past, it may well be himself here. Had there been a mercenary crew, he could have joined it - probably would have, given his rage and dissatisfaction with the way things were.

There but for the grace of God went Jonah Prowse.

And he knew it.

Two long strides and he faced the second man, Burkett. The second hood, the second noose. Five steps, the heels of his boots loud against the boards, the meaty thud of his steps almost echoing in the winter air. Look Hanford in the eye, just as he had Goetz and Burkett. The third hood, the third noose.

Twelve long steps back to the lever on the far side of the gallows. He had tested this twice today, once close to sunup, the second time before the crowds gathered.

"In accordance to the sentence pronounced by the Court Martial of Tybee County, Paul Goetz, Aryeh Burkett, and Malachai Hanford will be hanged by the neck until dead. It is the will of the courts and a jury of your peers that this be done. As Sheriff of Jericho, it is my duty to see that this execution be carried out, though I take no joy in it. May God have mercy on your souls." Jonah's voice carried well in the air. It was almost word-for-word what Elijah Prowse had said at the first execution in Jericho. He heard a soft sniffle from the crowd.

With that, Jonah placed his hand on the lever and, carefully keeping his eyes clear and his hand steady, pulled back hard.

There was a soft _thock_ as the supports moved back, a squeal of new hinges, a moment of endless silence before the ropes snapped taut. Three men hung in the noonday sun of northern Kansas for three minutes before the doctors were called to declare.

Jonah would never forget the sound or sight of three necks snapping in almost perfect unison. The crunch of bone, the limp loll of the heads, the slackness of the bodies as they swayed in the wind.

For years to come, nightmares in Jericho would groan with the simple sound of heavily-burdened ropes creaking against wood in the wind.

J*J*J*J*J*J

The deaths were declared and the crowd slowly dispersed. By the time the bodies were taken down from the gallows and placed in simple pine coffins, only the undertaker, his crew, Reverend Michaels, Johnston, Serena, and Jonah were left.

No one spoke as they placed the sealed coffins into the back of three trucks and drove the short distance to Boot Hill, a new addition to the edge of town and less than a quarter-mile from the gallows. The coffins were slowly lowered into the waiting graves, low voices communicating only when necessary. The service was short.

"Amen," the group said.

Johnston, Jonah, and Serena each took a handful of dirt from the mound next to Goetz's grave. As one, they tossed the dirt into the grave. The soft thud of the clods on the coffin sent a chill down Jonah's spine. There were still two more to go. As the group of three moved from Goetz to Burkett, two of the gravediggers began to shovel dirt over Goetz.

As the gravediggers began filling the last grave, Jonah knew it was time for him to leave. He nodded to Johnston and Serena and walked back to his car. If he didn't get back to his place soon, he wouldn't be worth anything for the rest of the day.

Aylah had been there. He'd seen her standing with Heather and Emily. Jake and Mitch had been on duty, had just escorted Timms and Voorhees back to the farmhouse. In less than a week, they would have a new sentence. God help him if it was again execution.

He turned into the drive of Quaker Transport in time to see Aylah walk out with a toolbox. She stopped as he got out of his car and started walking toward her.

"Going to check on the Richmond equipment," she said, "but it can wait. Just…needed something to do."

"Do it here. No one is doing anything this afternoon. Everything's closed in town." He stopped and exhaled as his stomach tightened and cramped. "Anything in the kitchen?"

"Some," she replied, searching his face. "Again, Jonah?"

"Yeah." He turned and walked into the kitchen, not looking to see if she followed him. He had about five minutes to get something down or he'd be out of commission for a week. This hadn't happened in years. Then again, he hadn't been doing this much in years, either.

Aylah followed him and poured a glass of milk while he threw together a sandwich of peanut butter and homemade sandwich bread, courtesy of Mama Talon and her new bakery.

"Long day," she said, watching him eat. "Nothing left here to do, nobody's talking. Kids aren't here to work, neither is anyone else." Jonah lifted his eyebrows, demanding more information. "Jake and Heather probably met at the farmhouse, said something about riding for a while. Mitch and Emily went with them. D'Shea is with Areille and her kids. Noah is out on the road with Billy, Stevie is keeping up with them on the radio. The others…it's the same kind of thing. Sky is with Dale, but they're in her room. Neither one looked too good when they came in."

"Where's Leon and Oliver?" he managed after swallowing some milk.

"Oliver's with Old Man Adams at the airfield. It's a lot different than what he'd be looking at if he went back to his place, and Adams said something about rigging up some rations and cots in each hangar, just in case something happened while people were out. McVeigh is going up this afternoon for her survey, and Leon…is with Lisa Carmichael. They're in with Sky and Dale." She hesitated. "Don't think we have to worry there," she managed.

"You haven't met her mother," Jonah said. Now he would have a headache, too. At least his stomach was settling now. It wasn't much, he couldn't manage but half the sandwich, but it was something.

"No." Aylah started pacing. "You going out?"

Jonah watched her, wondering what was wrong. "After a bit, yes. Not yet though. Why?"

"Don't know," she said, wrapping her arms around her. No one was there. She could speak plainly. "Just thinking about the past. Here." She shook her head and shrugged.

"You've been doing okay," he said, leaning against the counter. "There something I should know?"

"No. Nothing really. Just… It's not getting any easier. Going into town - I hate it. Send someone else, when you can?" There were tears in her eyes.

"Aylah, come here," he said. When she was in front of him, he pulled her close. "No." He couldn't do it. She knew why. She wouldn't ask, but he'd tell her anyway. "You lived with the Clarinds, you like going there. You'll stay here with me, no problem. You lived in the Rogue to avoid this town. Now, you're here and you have to be here."

"No, I don't," she said, mostly to be contrary.

"Because you've made your place here and you have people who know you. The way you've reacted to new situations, the way you reacted to Mitch the first day you came here - do you still hate him?"

"Not exactly. He's…grown up. He was a nasty little kid." She'd figured out how to deal with Mitch over the weeks. He'd figured out how to deal with her. They were engaged in mutual apathy.

"Good. You think anyone, anywhere, else would put up with your quirks like we do here?"

"But town, Jonah. Do I have to go to town?" She knew about the whispered conversations, the questions about Jonah's woman, his sweet-young-thing, speculation about where she'd been, once her name had become known.

"Yes," he said, tipping her face up to look into her eyes. "Because you are beautiful." He smiled at her. "Besides, you didn't mind dragging me into town and bearding Johnston in his den."

"That was different. I knew I was in for a fight, or at least opposition. Going to town now…it's just for work and around people who never gave a damn what was happening under their own noses-"

"Who had no idea, and still don't." Jonah knew where she was going. "I've never said a word, and I won't. To anyone. Not even to the Clarinds. You told them everything they know."

She thought for a second and went back to the differences between her first day back and now. "Besides, I knew you and Johnston would both be off-balance. I got what I wanted, what you and town both needed, so everything's good."

"Johnston might forgive you one day," he said, chuckling and kissing her lips quickly. "But you've yet to apologize to me for that whole scene in his office. Hugging me in front of Johnston. You'll ruin my image."

Aylah snorted. "And what does this apology entail?" she asked, knowing that with Jonah it could be anything.

"I'll have to think about that." He pulled her head down to his shoulder and closed his eyes as her breath ghosted across his neck. Right now, this was just what he needed.

Aylah relaxed against Jonah and closed her eyes. There were some arguments she couldn't win with him, and whether or not she was going to town was one of them. As for an apology, she would come up with something first. Right now, though, just being here, with him, was enough. She knew he would never say it, but he needed someone to lean on at times. Maybe she wasn't much in the way of a support, but she would always be there for him when he needed her.

It was the least she could do.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Christine and Randy stood on the front porch of the Carmichael place. They weren't speaking, and they did not want to go inside with the others.

"Take a walk?" Randy suggested, noticing that her hand was still entwined with his. It had been since the gallows testimony had been taken. If she wanted to keep her hand there, he wouldn't argue. In fact, she was welcome to turn to him, to lean on him, whenever she wanted. If only he had the words to tell her that.

"Sure," she said. "How about the trail to the river?" It was a path she'd not taken before. In fact, she had been afraid to walk it alone. Randy could walk for a fair way now, and since he had his cane with him, he would be fine. She'd been doing a lot better since she got here, physically and mentally. She'd become stronger, more aware of the world around her, but she hadn't noticed that her hand was still in his. All she knew was that she had become comfortable with him over the past two weeks, moreso than she'd ever thought she would.

Sure, two of the younger girls were a bit wary of him, but he'd had enough nightmares and sleepless nights that they understood he was healing from some horrible experiences, too.

"Long walk," Randy said, looking down at her. She was a tall girl, but he was over six feet tall. "You up to it?"

"Let's find out," she replied, smiling at him a little. Neither one was up for a real smile, but they couldn't go in and listen to the others, either.

Without another word, they walked back down the steps and around the side of the house to the river trail. Their footsteps and the rustle of her long skirts were the only sounds in the quiet of the afternoon. They didn't let go of one another.

They were still holding hands when they came back to the house over two hours later.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Leon and Lisa were sitting with Dale and Skylar, though not in Skylar's room. They were in the common room, a large area with couches and a few tables, including a pool table and a ping-pong table. Dale and Skylar were curled up on a couch across the room, talking softly and falling silent for long periods.

Lisa was pressed close to Leon's side, something he didn't mind in the least. She felt right there. As it was, he knew it was probably one of the only times he would have this opportunity, unless he fought for it.

With her head on the Leon's shoulder, Lisa coud appreciate the quiet strength of the man. Oh, he was a joker, he would always have a smart-assed comment ready, but he wasn't just flash and show. Granted, there was a lot to look at, but he hid more of himself, like she had when things were normal. No one ever knew about her affection for mechanics, for putting engines back together. No one here guessed Leon was not just another Hispanic boy gone bad.

They weren't talking. He wouldn't, now, if he were raised in the more traditional manner. He didn't have to say it, but he was taking comfort from her even as she was from him.

It was just too strange, and it was normal, too. People who did horrible things were sentenced to death; some were executed over the years. Now, though, they just couldn't support men for years upon years on Death Row. It was the public execution that was so strange. In under two months, Jericho had become what it had been in the 1840s.

Lisa's problem was philosophical.

Was such a change really for the worse?

J*J*J*J*J*J

Johnston and Gail worked quietly inside the stables. The horses still needed attention, even if their people had been at the hanging today. Johnston didn't have the desire for quiet introspection now. In times of trouble, he did what his father had taught him to do - work harder.

Gail watched Johnston as he moved another bale. He would be sore tonight. She'd make sure the water heater worked properly tonight and that she added Epsom salts to his bath. No matter what she made for dinner, she knew he wouldn't taste it. Oh, he would eat it; he needed his strength even more now. He would eat the meal, but he wouldn't be concerned with the taste.

The next few days would be difficult. He would be much like he had been in the Army after some secret action or training, taciturn and grouchy. She would endure. This time, she didn't have two boys to chase at the same time.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah and Aylah left the office, telling Stevie they were headed to the Clarind spread. Once there, Aylah visited with Titus and Maddie while Jonah hunted up Father Xavier, one of Maddie's grandsons.

Father Xavier had gone to ground in the family chapel, the first Catholic church in Jericho. It was tiny, but so had the group with Miss Clarinda been.

"Father," he said into the dim, candle-lit chapel, "would you hear my confession?"

Father Xavier turned from his place in the first pew and saw Jonah standing inside.

"Of course, Jonah," he said, his deep voice filling the room. "Do you prefer the confessional, or will the chapel do?"

"Here is fine, so long as we're not interrupted," Jonah had a lot to say, but he didn't now if he'd be willing to stop and start again later. What was it that had nudged him back to the Church? He knew it wasn't his own mortality or the hangings. It had started a bit earlier. Was it the bombs? Was it Aylah? Was it reconciling with Johnston and the town? Was it Em? Whatever it was, he was here now, and he was standing just inside the door of the chapel.

Jonah dipped his fingers in the holy water and crossed himself. He walked down the aisle, genuflected to the tabernacle behind the altar, and sat down next to the young priest. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned…"

When the opening was finished, he waited for the first question from Father Xavier.

"Why have you waited thirty-seven years?" Father Xavier asked.

"I could give you a list of reasons, Father, but none of them are worth anything. During Vietnam, I stopped going to the services, then when I got back, I was in prison for a while. After prison, I moved back here and did a lot of things for a lot of reasons. Good reasons? Maybe. Seemed like it at the time, but there was no room for introspection then. I did what I saw had to be done, no matter what it was. Sometimes, I did things that I could do, just because I could.

"The list of venal sins is longer than we have time to go into, but pretty much anything you can think of that a man with a criminal past has done, I've done. Lies, cheating, bribery, name it. I regret those actions, for the most part, and I have other things that I need to confess."

"Then we'll go straight to those things. Where would you like to start, Jonah?"

Jonah gave a wry laugh. "Where would I like to start? Back in 1965, before I fu-, ah, screwed up my life so completely. Guess I should go in order, then. I've taken the Lord's name in vain and broken the Sabbath for years upon years, most of the time without even realizing it. When my parents were alive, after I came back, we fought constantly and I never made any attempt to make it right. Which Commandment are we up to now?"

"Five," Father Xavier replied, his voice dry, "with a tally of three for five in your side."

"Five left, then." Jonah's voice was humourless. "I've killed, mostly in war. Not always. I cheated on my wife while she was alive, even before she kicked me out. I've stolen, people and things. I've lied in court - my own trial and a buddy's. He got the worst of it. I should've been in jail for a helluva lot longer than five years." Jonah paused for a long minute before choking out the last. "I've envied an old friend for years, for his family, his wife, his kids…knowing it was my own damn fault that I didn't have those things. When I had the chance, I even used one of his children to hurt him."

There was a long silence.

"Let's start with the women. Why would you go to others? You were married in the Church, weren't you?"

"Yeah. Funny, huh? Everyone thought we were common law, but we were legally and spiritually joined. Guess I wasn't that far gone then." Jonah shook his head, leaning back in the pew. "Don't have a reason, not at first. Sylvie was everything I could have wanted - sweet, loving, gentle, pretty, a wonderful mother and wife. At first I didn't want to go with another woman - she was a 'gift' from a business associate. It reached the point that refusing her was an insult to him, so after a month or so of fending her off, I caved. I also told Sylvie, and she forgave me." His voice dropped to a whisper as he repeated, "She forgave me.

"I didn't deserve it, but she forgave me." Jonah laughed. "It's not funny, really, and this was before the heavy advertisements about the dangers of unprotected sex, but I did not want her to have any ties on me, so I was careful. Even went to the doc afterward, just to be sure. Didn't want Sylvie to be exposed to anything. Kept seeing the same girl off and on when I had to. After a while, the business partners changed and they moved away. That wasn't the first or the last time, though. There were others, especially after Sylvie kicked me out. That was just after Chris was born and I was in deeper than before. After she kicked me out, I only went to women when I really needed one. Sometimes, though, if she was upset, she'd come to me. I lived for those nights…"

Jonah trailed off and thought about his wife and those days.

"When she kicked me out, she didn't have a job. She was busy taking care of Em and Chris, so she was up to her ears in work at the house. Em was running everywhere and completely fascinated by her brother. She adored him from the day he was born - before that, really. When I went to the bank two weeks later, I found out Sylvie had bounced a check. The manager - Bob Newton, you wouldn't know him - asked me into his office. I put a hole in his office wall, scared the hell out of his secretary, and told him to keep me apprised about Sylvie's account. It was our joint account, but I'd started a separate one in my name only. I put every check into that account, except for the money for gas and for food for the week. Whenever I made money off-book, I put most of it in her account. She didn't have to do anything but take care of the kids. I think that's why she came to me when Em was getting older and running wild. She wouldn't let me near them while they were little, not while I was in with the worst people this town's never seen, but she always came to me if there was something she needed or couldn't handle alone.

"I just couldn't stop hurting her." He saw the expression on Father Xavier's face. "Not physically. Couldn't do it, but damn I wanted to some days. No, I hurt her worse than physically. I loved her, she loved me, but it wasn't enough. Love just isn't enough."

Jonah was quiet for a long moment. Father Xavier just waited.

"Murder. That's the next one," Jonah said, moving away from his late wife. He was twisting the ring he still wore. He didn't notice the habit, but Father Xavier did. "Mostly it was war. But there were others, not including today. Nine, total, that I know about. Two jumped me and didn't survive it. Five were killed getting those girls out of the cabin. One I gave to the girls…let them take out their pain on him. Guess that comes back to me. And Aylah's stepfather, did the same for her. That's kidnapping and murder, I guess." He shook his head. "Hard to regret those, Father. Don't know if I can. One of the girls, the youngest, Emma…she was dying. In pain, with no hope - I broke her neck. All she had ahead of her was hours of agony and a slow death because there was no way Doc or Green could have saved her. Don't know if a Boston hospital could save her, she was that torn up. That's ten. Three others could've died, after they attacked me," he wasn't going in any order now, but thinking aloud. "Not sure if they did or not. And then there's Chris.

"Chris, my own son. Jake said more than once I should've been his father, not his boss, but no one knew that I was trying to keep Chris out of the worst of it. He just wouldn't stop asking. For weeks, all I heard was 'When can I go? What can I do?' Finally, one day I just snapped at him. Told him he'd be in if he and Mitch managed to get something - I don't even remember what - from the Beakman's. Beakman's. Damn, I should've picked something easier - like the Wells-Fargo office in Wichita. Or Fort Knox. Told them to get Jake as a lookout and come back with whatever it was. Next thing I knew, it was two a.m., Reilley was yelling at me to come out, Mitch was in cuffs, Jake was gone and Chris…" Jonah felt his throat closing. He'd raged. He'd ranted. He'd been misery to anyone who mentioned his son in his hearing, but he'd never grieved. He shut back the pain, knowing if he gave in now he wouldn't be able to do what he had to do.

"Chris was dead," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "And it was my fault. I never should've lost my temper with him. I did, and he paid for it.

"I killed my own son, though I never meant to hurt him. God help me, I never meant to hurt him. I thought Jake could talk then out of it. Never expected them to try. I hated Johnston even more then, that his son knew when to get out and mine didn't. Lost Sylvie a month after, from grief. They say it was an accidental overdose, but I know she took more of her heart meds than she needed because she wanted to die. Lost Em then, too, but she's come back. She won't forgive me for Chris, and I can't blame her. I can't forgive myself."

"It's not up to you or to Emily to forgive," Father Xavier chided him. "And you screwed that one but good, but it's not up to you now."

The rebuke was what Jonah needed to move on. He nodded and changed subjects. "I'm up to what? Theft? Stole from the mine for years. Never tried to hide it. Stole what I could from other places, including cars and jewels. Sold them for cash to pay off people that make Al Capone look like the Easter Bunny. Guess the reasons don't matter. Stevens knew what I was doing. Not Skylar's dad, but her grandfather, and since Junior didn't fire me when he took over after his father's death, Senior must've told him. Sky has no idea, but her father kept me on until Gray showed up. Getting the last little bits needed to make sure no one set up shop here wasn't easy." Jonah paused. "Senior told me to take what I needed, no matter what it was. Does that make it stealing, if you have permission?"

"Probably," Father Xavier supplied, his voice dry again. "Of course, the other things, and the kidnapping, definitely count, so even if the mine was where you got most of the things, it's still theft when you include the others."

"Figures." Jonah shook his head. "Then I just kept a short book from the shop, just to keep in practice. Better to have the resources and not need them than to need them and scramble to get it together."

"And Aylah agrees, of course."

"Probably, but I haven't talked to her about it. She's not stupid, though. She's got it figured. I've never barred her from the office, so she probably found the short-books. She doesn't ask question she doesn't want me to answer, though."

"You're a lucky man to have her still willing to stand with you," Father Xavier said, "then again, she was a lucky girl that you stopped that night."

"Luck or fate?" Jonah held up a hand. "Don't answer that. I don't want to know. Aylah. She's in my bed now, has been, off and on, over the past…fifteen, sixteen years. We don't love each other, but we need each other. Then again, we don't, but…" Jonah rubbed his face. "Let's not talk about Aylah right now. I don't regret anything I've done with her or for her, and I'll figure the rest of it out later."

Father Xavier laughed. "What is it with you and women, Jonah? You've got women panting after you who are a lot younger - and don't bother asking, you know better - and you're with a woman who doesn't particularly care for the physical side of things. What's more, she won't let go of you and you won't let go of her."

"Never said we were faithful," he replied, smiling. The smile faded. "I'd feel a lot better about her if she would go to someone else. Even if it is against the rules," he added, giving the young priest a wry smile.

"There are absolutes, Jonah, but sometimes mitigating circumstances really do exist." That was all Xavier would say on the subject of fidelity and Aylah. "I believe we're up to…false witness?"

"Ah, yes. Detroit, my trial, and Jay. Jay and I robbed a liquor store - don't remember why, we were just that stupid. Seemed like a good idea, I remember that much. The clerk was shot, but since we were both firing and had the same make and model firearm, before they'd check bullet striations, I don't know who hit her. She lived, but I said I knew Jay had fired. He insisted it could've been either of us - and that was true. He went up on murder and robbery, I was only in on robbery and assault with a deadly weapon, combined five years. He was given life, but he had a rap sheet there and I didn't. Still lied about it, though. Hell, maybe I did kill her, too. Despite what people say, some things like that can be lost to time and memory."

"The memory isn't perfect," Father Xavier said. "It is true that you could have been as guilty and that you lied about it to his detriment and your benefit. If I could, if it wouldn't break the Seal of the Confessional, I'd have my twin kick your ass for some of the things you've done. As I am a priest and a peace-loving man, I will instead tell you to be very careful about these things from now on."

"Speaking of your twin, how is it that you went for Holy Orders and Marcus became the Marine? I'd've figured it the other way around."

"Mm. I was a Marine, but as soon as my hitch was over I headed for seminary. And that is more than most people know, Jonah." That was a warning. Technically, his previous life was not up for discussion, though it was the pool of knowledge on which he could draw to help others.

"All right. I guess we're up to some of my worst actions - using Jake to hurt Johnston." Jonah took a deep breath and began to tell the story of Jake Green.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Aylah talked with Laureanna and Maddie about her health, and Laureanna said she needed to be careful with 'her man'. Aylah objected to the description of Jonah and reminded them she couldn't have children.

"Mm. As I recall," Laureanna said, "the wording on that was you'd never carry to term, not that you couldn't get pregnant. We have to make decisions now about who gets what treatments - and thank God we still have enough and alternates for some of the more common things. I do not need to tell you, do I, how hard a miscarriage can be on a woman? Especially now, with our medical capabilities so reduced?"

"No, Miss Laureanna," Aylah sighed. "All right. What is it you want me to take?" Aylah knew she wouldn't take it, but she'd carry the supplies home with her. "And have you spoken with Emily or Heather yet?"

"That is none of your business-" Laureanna began, then stopped. "Wait. I cannot believe you just asked about two other women. So I'll tell you, but if you breathe one word to them, I'll do something drastic. Yes and yes. They're both taking what I made for them, and no, you can't hand all of this to them and keep from taking it. I put this together for your and your body chemistry, not for them. Now," she said, lifting a syringe, "show me your arm, honey."

Aylah suffered through Laureanna's physical and chemical evaluation, waited while she pulled together all of the necessary ingredients from her apothecary's cabinet, and listened carefully as she described the exact proportions and processes she was to use daily from now on. Miss Maddie recorded the instructions on a sheet of paper in her perfect handwriting. Knowing from experience what Laureanna would demand, Aylah repeated the instructions perfectly.

"This is enough for three vials, which will last you three months." Laureanna pursed her lips. "After that, I'll need to do another evaluation. Now, how are you set for the bruise cream and other things?"

"I have enough of them, Miss Laureanna, at least through Christmas."

"All right then," Laureanna said, letting the topic go. "Now you tell me all about how you're doing, girl, and what you've been up to these years. We haven't seen you in a dog's age!"

Aylah laughed, setting the bundle aside until it was time to go. "All right, Miss Laureanna, but should we make tea first? It's a long story."

"Tea and some of my coffeecake," Miss Maddie answered for her impatient friend. "And we'll get Brother and Jenny in here, too. We've missed you, child," she added, standing and stroking Aylah's hair. "But you're home now."

"Only home I've really had," Aylah said, smiling up at her mother-by-choice. "Only one I cared about, anyway."

"So not even Jonah can change your mind about that?" the older woman asked as the three of them walked to the kitchen.

"I doubt it, Miss Maddie," Aylah said, sighing. "I'm just not cut out for marriage."

"Oh, I remember saying that," Laureanna said, snorting. "And look at me? I had eight kids and one husband." She paused, then amended her statement. "Make that nine kids, eight of them, I birthed."

The women laughed as they got the cake and tea ready, Brother Titus and his wife of sixty years, Jenny, joining them in the kitchen for a long, comfortable conversation with their prodigal, adopted daughter.

J*J*J*J*J*J

On the way home that night, Aylah didn't explain the bundle she carried, nor did Jonah explain his need for silence. Their thoughts and the presence of the other was company enough.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

NOTES:

* From Lisa, "Would you walk with me? Please, sir?" From Leon, "Of course, my lady, if you would like/if you so desire." (inexact, but close as I could get with rusty Spanish & a quick dictionary check); Lisa's response, "Thank you very much, Leon." The bit about formal Spanish Spanish and Mexican Spanish is half-remembered, half-extrapolated from reading and listening. The accents, phrasing, etc., are different, though, and the Spanish we tend to hear on TV (at least in the States), is the common dialect of Mexican Spanish. Just like formal and informal English, there are differences in Spanish, and the family tradition/education/wealth will also have an impact. Lisa's mother is from Castile, Spain. Leon (as you now know) is from San Diego, and well-educated. You'll get more about him later. Oh, almost forgot. There's supposed to be an upside-down question mark in front of Lisa's questions, but I couldn't make Word cooperate. Pretend it's there.

**Song performed by Chris LeDoux; the writer listed is "Lore", which I'm taking as "this is Western lore, not attributed to any particular person", or "old standard/Anonymous". If I'm wrong, please correct me.


	32. The Days After: 47 through 49

**Timeline:** Bombs + 47 - 49

**Disclaimer Redux: **Playing in somebody else's sandbox, but behaving.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Throughout Jericho, the afternoon was quiet. No one really cried, but no one was quite ready to go on with life as usual. The realization that the hangings had actually occurred was enough to get through. People worked in their homes, or stayed with family, or even went to see the priests in town, but no one really mourned. Well, no one except the handful of Ravenwood men who had been close to the three who would no longer lead or terrorize their unit. Even then, the men had become more accustomed to working with others or through their pain with physical labour. If their hearts ached, they didn't mention it. Or show it.

The next day was much more normal, the flow of life and survival taking precedence over the sobering reminder of mortality from the day before. More people visited the lawyer to draw up a will, but no one paused for long in their day. Not even Timms and Voorhees, who were working on a few things in the old farmhouse, not something they'd agreed to, but something to keep them occupied. The Rangers guarding them had supplied tools and manuals, if needed. It was the report of this busy-ness on the part of the captives that made the Rangers consider them more closely.

On the second day after the executions, life had returned to the old routines, complete with sarcastic comments, laughter, and dancing at Baileys before or after dinner at Davey's. It was on that Wednesday that Skylar Stevens made a distressing discovery.

"Wait a minute!" Skylar said, pausing on the way to the kitchen with Mitch and Noah. "When's the last time Aylah or Heather cooked?"

Mitch and Noah thought for a minute.

"They haven't," Mitch said. Usually, Mitch didn't particularly like people, especially teenagers, but this little spitfire had gotten under his skin somehow. "You want to tell them?" He wanted to see this. Then again, Mitch had a somewhat twisted sense of humour.

"Absolutely." Skylar's eyes were indignant and her face was set. She turned on her heel and marched into the shop where Aylah and Heather were reviewing the ventilator systems manual with Leon and Lisa. The students had been gone only fifteen minutes, so they had just gotten deep into the conversation.

"You going to watch this?" Mitch asked Noah.

"Hell, yes," the older man replied, grinning. He'd trimmed his beard and his hair was positively short compared to what it had been before Bethanne got her hands on him. He wasn't up to objecting at this point, since he'd noticed that people didn't ease away from him on the sidewalks as much. Maybe she did have a point. "Wouldn't miss Princess Stevens on the warpath."

"Princess Stevens?" Mitch chuckled softly as they followed the girl into Aylah's den. "She know you call her that?"

"Hell, Jonah's called her that to her face more than once."

"What's she say?" Mitch admired anyone who tried to score one off the boss.

"She just gave him this look and said, real snippy, 'So why aren't you kneeling?' Boss near busted a gut laughing." Noah grinned. "'Course, that was after her roared at her and kicked her out of his office. At Town Hall."

Mitch tried not to laugh too loudly as they walked back into the business portion of Jonah's property. Originally, the business had been a warehousing and transport company, but Jonah had converted the warehouses sections into bedrooms with some bathrooms years before. The warehousing had dried up before the man sold out to Jonah. Several warehouses were left to their original purpose, and the converted units had been bridged with a set of common rooms, then corridors to the shop for bad weather, rainy days, and just because Jonah could. The setup was pretty convenient, so the original gang and one or two others, like Jake and Heather, tended to stay at the office. It had been cheaper than owning this and a house in town, where nobody had wanted Jonah or his men anyway, but now it was saved time, fuel, and trouble.

Skylar walked over to the foursome at the drafting tables and cleared her throat. When they turned to look at the irate girl, Skylar finally spoke.

"Excuse me, but it has come to our attention that certain people have not been pulling their weight here, especially when it comes to cooking. You, Heather, and you, Aylah," she pointed at each woman in turn, "are cooking dinner tonight. You need to get started, oh, about now. Everything's on the menu, measurements, recipes, and ingredients are provided. Good luck."

"And if we don't cook?" Aylah asked, raising her eyebrows as she saw Noah around the corner.

"You don't eat," Noah said, smirking at Aylah. "Wasn't that part of the plan Boss set down? After the amount of time you've weaseled out of this part of living here, it's time to pay the piper."

Skylar sent Noah and Mitch a big, beautiful smile. She saw Jonah behind the two men. Her guardian simply raised his eyebrows at her.

"Don't get too cocky, Princess. You're doing the dishes." Jonah turned to go when she called out behind him.

"You're a jerk, Mr. Ad Litem!"

"Bite me," he replied over his shoulder, trying not to smirk. He'd wanted to say that to her for about two weeks, ever since her 'oh, like, what-ev-errr' about the basic sleep-over rules he had. That was the night Dale had come out to work on something for Gracie and the store and wound up crashing in Skylar's room, on the top bunk. Skylar had slept on the bottom bunk. They weren't many and generally revolved around not making more noise than the neighbours would appreciate, and Jonah's tone had made it clear he was only going over this because her father would like him to at least address the issue with her.

"No thanks. I might get rabies," she sniped back.

"Girl one, Jonah zero," Noah muttered to Mitch.

"And you two get to help her," Jonah said, not bothering to turn around. "And no, Mitch, that doesn't mean you drink tequila and direct." He had a wide grin, he thoroughly enjoyed baiting her and the flash and fire she showed. This one, he believed, would be just fine with a few more pushes and a bit of time.

"Damn," Mitch sighed, loud enough for Jonah to hear. "And I just got a manicure." He lifed his hands for Noah to see. They were scrubbed free of most of the grease from today, but there were still dark spots around the cuticles and in the creases of the knuckles.

"Poor thing. You can always use the gloves," Noah snickered. "Wouldn't want you to ruin those nails." Mitch's nails obviously belonged to a man who worked with his hands for hours on end.

"Oh, you're so cute," Skylar said, having walked over with Aylah and Heather, who were none too happy about being given chow detail. She knew they were getting in a few digs at her well-vocalized hatred of washing large basins of dishes. "Besides, you need to worry more about your breath, Mitchy." The two older women didn't stick around to hear the rest of the conversation. They were too irritated by the abrupt change of their plans.

"Watch it, brat. You'd snap like a twig." Mitch mock-growled, looming over her.

"So original. Is your brain cell working again?" Skylar even rolled her eyes. The delivery was perfect.

"At least I still have a brain cell. The rental agent listing the space between your ears finally gave up." Mitch smirked down at the girl, who started to laugh.

"Good one," she giggled. Mitch had been, well, an ass when she first met him. He was actually tolerable now. They had more fun grouching and insulting each other than they'd admit, but it was clear that they'd become something less than friends but more than two ships passing in the halls.

"You two will never grow up," Noah said, shaking his head in mock despair.

"You're only old when you forget how to play, Noah," Skylar said, linking her arm through Noah's.

He gave her a mock bow and escorted "milady to her chambers," where she curtsied and thanked him for his "gallant escort." The walk had been less than thirty feet.

Mitch, sensing the opportunity to annoy someone else, dropped in on Leon and Lisa.

J*J*J*J*J*J

About twenty minutes later, Aylah and Heather had looked over everything, pulled out the correct pans and dishes, and finished prepping the vegetables and the omnipresent chicken. There wasn't any steak right now, except at Davey's, because there weren't enough cows to butcher for food and still have a herd to keep the numbers up for the next year. One dairy cow had gone dry in the last two weeks, and a horse at the Green ranch had broken the ankles of both forelegs. The red meat had gone to Davey's, since he was considered the best cook in Jericho for red meats. Granted, there was deer, sometimes, but that wasn't the same as a steak. They had to be careful of the numbers of deer, too, in order to keep them around for game in later years.

The turkey farm had done very well, but chicken was the usual food in Jericho. No one was quite comfortable with the fish that were in the river, so they'd concentrated on land-based food. Besides, turkey took a long time to cook whole, and neither Aylah nor Heather had cleaning turkey carcasses as high on their list of things to do. The chickens came prepared & butchered, boneless only, if the patrons preferred. The skin had necessary fat in it. Working from 12-16 hours a day, eating the way their ancestors had, they needed the fats to stay healthy. Everyone had lost weight. Even those who couldn't afford to lose weight had toned and tightened up in the past month.

Vegetables were pretty easy to prepare, all things considered. Peel and chop. Peel and slice. Peel and drop in whole. The meat was pre-cut, so all they had to do was add moisture and seasonings. Things were going well, and everything so far had gone well, but there were a few things that the women weren't used to.

Like frying.

And gauging space at the top of baking dishes for spillage.

Or exactly how high "medium-high" heat was.

Or cooking.

Anything.

At all.

"Is that grease too hot?" Heather asked, watching the swirls in the golden liquid. The peanut oil was definitely hot, but she wasn't sure about those swirls. Did oil boil?

"No," Aylah said, thinking about Jenny in the kitchen. "No, that looks about right."

"Okay, then. I have the flour on the chicken, and the tongs. I guess I'll do the frying if you'll keep an eye on the stuff in the oven."

"What was the setting for the oven again?" Aylah asked, suddenly not sure if it was 350, 325, or 425. It was food, though, not anything really dangerous, like molten metal. Right?

"Umm…check the recipe. I think it was 375." Heather thought for a second. "We put the baked chicken in first, what, 15 minutes ago?"

"Sounds right. The green bean casserole went in about five minutes later, and it's all in one pan, so we won't have as many dishes to do." It was sound logic. The volume of the dish in question was enough for the casserole, which a few of the diners wouldn't eat, which was why the regular green beans were on the stove, boiling already.

"No problem, then. The stuff in the oven is fine." Aylah glanced at the recipe card for the chicken. 375. Perfect. "I'll start on the stuffing." Aylah studied the card in front of her. Not hard. Not hard at all.

"Sure." Heather picked up a piece of breaded chicken with the tongs. "You know, this isn't too hard, really."

"I just don't like it," Aylah said, remembering the amount of time her mother had spent in the kitchen, making everything just right for that creature she had married. No matter what Jenny and Miss Maddie had said, cooking was just not in her interest.

Heather nodded, agreeing. She had hated cooking since the required Home Ec. credit in middle school. That might have something to do with almost catching the school on fire, but mostly it was the antithesis of fun. Cars and machines were fun. Cooking was work. With a level of nonchalance she would have pitched a fit over in the shop, Heather dropped the chicken into the peanut oil. The resultant explosion was beautiful. In theory.

Hot grease splattered everywhere. Heather had turned away to see where Aylah was just as the chicken touched the oil. That was the only thing that saved her face and neck from hideous scarring. Her hair, however, was lightly scorched and the hot grease got onto the eyes of the commercial-sized stove. Fire licked around each and every pan currently in use. In the oven, the heat was doing its work, making the overfull containers bubble and overflow. Smoke began billowing from the oven as the elements caught fire.

Aylah and Heather ran for the fusebox and fire extinguisher. By the time they reached them, the fire had spread to the grease Rorschach on the countertop and enamel. Black smoke was filling the room and it was very hard to see the affected areas. Heather grabbed the extinguisher and turned to the small inferno. Aylah slammed her hand across the fuse for the stove, but the damage was done.

White foam covered the stove, choking off the source of the smoke and flames. The oven was still on fire, so Aylah picked her way across the kitchen and called to Heather.

"As soon as I open it, spray!" she ordered.

"Open and get out of the way - use your belt!" Heather was keeping an eye on the sullen orange glow through the glass. "You're not replaceable!"

"Right," Aylah took off her belt and looped it around the handle to the appliance. "One, two, three!" she said, yanking the door open on three.

Heather did her job and the white foam covered the oven, the food, and Aylah indiscriminately.

That was when Mitch and Noah hit the door, Jonah, Leon, and Jake only a second behind them.

"What the-?" Mitch started, then he saw the wreckage. "Injuries?"

"None," Heather said, "unless you count dinner." She coughed. "And smoke inhalation."

"Those count," Jake said, walking over to the window and opening it. The door was propped open by Noah. Jonah pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Aylah, when did you learn to cook?" he asked, his voice pained.

"I didn't," she said, shrugging.

"And you, Heather?" This time he was simply asking a question, his eyes stinging only a bit from the quickly clearing smoke.

"Never bothered," Heather admitted. "I live on microwaveable stuff."

"Did any of you ask if Heather or Aylah could cook?" His voice was very patient. This was a bad, bad sign, as Mitch and Jake well knew. Luckily, Jonah didn't wait for an answer. He rounded on Aylah.

"WHY IN HELL DID YOU COME IN HERE?" he yelled.

"LIKE HELL YOU'RE BLAMING THIS ON ME!" Aylah returned, her irritation at the entire situation bubbling up. "YOU'RE the one who came up with the brilliant idea of K.P. for everybody!" She was so angry at the moment she picked up the first thing she got her hands on and threw it out the window. "It's YOUR damn kitchen! Why aren't YOU cooking?"

"I HAVE, you twit!" he snapped back. She was yelling again. Good. These past weeks of cooperation were nowhere near as good as her temper, not for her. "YOU were too wrapped up in the shop to notice WHAT you ate or WHERE you were, much less WHO was doing the work!"

"Now I'm an ingrate?" Aylah hissed, stepping forward to close the distance between her…whatever he was and herself. "You DARE-"

"I call it like I see it, sweetheart," he snarled in response. If he managed this just right, he could avoid pushing her to actual physical violence. And that was one step too close. "How'd it start?" he asked, his voice suddenly curious.

Aylah blinked at him, then pinched her lips tight and stalked across the room to the open window to lean on the undamaged counter. Jake was watching Jonah very carefully. This was not the usual response Jonah had to the destruction of his property, as Jake well knew. Two broken ribs and a torn muscle in his thigh reminded him of that. The ache from those broken ribs was particularly annoying when he was tired and couldn't stop working. He kept an eye on Aylah, ready to come between her and Jonah if he had to. He really hoped he wouldn't have to. Jonah could still kick his ass, if he wanted to.

Surprised at the exchanges, the tempers, and the situation itself, Heather answered. "It was the grease for the fried chicken," she said. "I put the chicken in and it splattered everywhere. When the hot oil hit the working eyes, it caught fire, then spread to the countertop that had grease all over it. Then the pans in the oven boiled over, and the element caught on fire. We got the electrical feed off and," she lifted the extinguisher, "got this in play, so the damage isn't really horrible. It's just inconvenient. We'll-" Her offer to fix the damage was overridden.

"Stay out of the kitchen," Jonah finished for her. "I'll have Alex take care of this. What possessed you two make fried chicken if you can't cook?" If it weren't his kitchen, it would be amusing. No one had been hurt, after all, just…smoked a bit. And given a chemical treatment.

Heather's eyes were snapping. "It didn't seem that hard, we had instructions, the recipes and ingredients were put together, someone had given thought to the menu for the week, and no one bothered to ASK us if we knew anything about cooking or cleaning the kitchen. With the number of schedules we have floating around here, I figured someone had worked this all out."

"Um, Boss?" Noah said, thinking back about the chain of events.

"What the-" Skylar paused at the doorway, blinking at the smoke and stench coming from the kitchen. "Oh, I am sooo not doing the dishes!" she asserted, looking at Jonah.

There was nothing left for it. The group of men in the kitchen, expanded over the past minutes to include Billy and Harry, looked at each other and started chuckling, then laughing.

Skylar stood in the doorway, getting more and more annoyed as the laughter didn't stop. Aylah and Heather wore the same expression as Skylar. It was not funny. Not at all.

"Get cleaned up and changed," Jonah said to the two women, walking over to Aylah. "We'll go to Davey's for dinner, then Bailey's. You're buying."

"Kiss my-" Aylah began, stopping when Jonah's finger pressed against her lips.

He leaned in and whispered, "Later, hellcat. We'll talk later." He kissed her ear, one of the few spots that hadn't gotten splattered with white foam, and smiled at her. It had been weeks since he had seen that grouchy look in those grey eyes. He knew his open amusement at her would not endear him to her, but he took his humour where it came. There had been more laughter in his life in these past six weeks than in the past twenty-six years.

Aylah just nodded, then pushed away from the counter to go get a shower. Jonah watched her go, then looked around the room at the actual damage. There wasn't much, really, and most of it to the stove.

Across the room, Jake was smiling down at Heather.

"Okay, so you're lousy at poker, can't make a martini, and you can't cook." His grin grew wider as her eyes narrowed. "Be glad I can, or we'd be begging meals from Mom forever."

"Shut up, Jake," Heather grouched. "You have no idea-mmpfh!...Mmmm…" Heather's response was cut off by Jake's lips gently meeting hers.

"Get a room," groaned Leon. "Get a room!"

"And remember we're leaving soon for Davey's," Skylar chimed in. "You don't have - wait." She turned to see an astonished Mimi, who had come over to start the first night of her bet with Skylar. "Yes, you do. Shoo." The tiny girl made a shooing motion with her hands, making Jake raise his eyebrows and Heather giggle.

Mimi stared around the kitchen. "What happened?" she asked.

"Heather and Aylah," Lisa responded, sighing. She'd come in with Billy and Harry, not long after the first wave of responders. "Seems they do have faults after all."

"Damn," Mimi said, grinning. "Pyromania?" she asked.

"No," Noah said. "Seems they carry the anti-cooking gene."

"Ah. I thought I was a carrier, but it turns out I just didn't know what I was doing," Mimi smiled. "Dated a chef in D.C. Didn't work out, but damn did I eat well."

"We're going to Davey's," Mitch said, still not sure how to take this woman. She reminded him of Emily, only bitchier. Add that she was a federal employee, specifically from the IRS, well, a man like Mitch wasn't inclined to like her. Stanley could keep her, and preferably far away from here.

"Oh my…" Emily walked in, eyes wide. "I saw the smoke and came over. Was anyone hurt?" she asked, coming right to the heart of the matter.

"Only some countertops and pride," Noah said, shaking his head. "Davey's and Bailey's tonight. Aylah and Heather," he motioned to the damage, "the guilty parties, are buying."

"Oh." Emily smiled. "Well, in that case, I'll go get cleaned up." She was still covered with a fine layer of grease and oil from the day. Today's lesson: Lubrication. Number of dirty jokes: Too many to count. Emily's nerves: Pretty much shot. Dinner out and dancing at Bailey's was just what the doctor ordered.

"I'll wash your back," Mitch said, thinking of Emily, the length of shower she preferred, and what he had wanted to do just before she got her shower. Emily gave him a long look and pursed her lips. Then she flashed him a huge smile.

"Gotta catch me first," she said, turning and taking off down the hall at a full-out run. Mitch was only a step behind her. He caught her up and swung her over his shoulder, ignoring the grease. Emily's laughing, shrieking, wriggling form disappeared as Mitch ran with her into their room.

Mimi turned to ask if they were always like that with the first soft moan filtered through the vents. The question was written all over her face, so Skylar answered it.

"Yes," Skylar said, just looking at the older woman. Soft squeals and laughter overrode the moans, and then other sounds reached the kitchen.

"My sympathies," Mimi murmured.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Aylah showered quickly and stepped out to get her towel, only to find Jonah holding it for her. She gave a sigh and nodded to his room. He shook his head. She was about to ask why when he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss lasted a long time, Aylah's irritation lessening under Jonah's silent apology.

"Go lay down," he said, considering how quickly Aylah had cleaned up. "We've got about fifteen minutes or so."

She looked at him and a wicked gleam came into her eyes.

"If you want me to rub your back, say nothing." His bribe worked. In seconds, Aylah was on her stomach on the bed, Jonah's hands pressing gently across the knots and aches of her back.

"Mmmm…" she moaned, unaware that her appreciation was audible in the kitchen. "Mmm…Oh, there…" Jonah was working out a particularly painful knot. "Just like that…ahhhhhh…"

Jonah laughed silently as Aylah relaxed under his hands. If he hadn't learned how to deal with her by now, no one could. Tonight, when they came back, she'd be more relaxed and talk with him about anything under the sun. She'd also be willing to let him finish this massage and return the favour.

It was odd how easily they'd fallen together after so many years apart. He wasn't sure what to think about this or her, not now. Food for thought, but later. Much later.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Twenty minutes later, everyone except Mitch, Jake, Emily, and Heather were waiting at the cars. Jonah, Aylah, Lisa, and Skylar were going in his chosen vehicle, the RoadRunner. The others had piled into their cars in groups, Mimi riding with Noah and Leon.

"Go on," Jonah signalled to the rest of the group. "We'll come later."

The engines turned over and a small caravan wound down the road and into town.

A much more relaxed pair of couples walked out of the door almost ten minutes later. Jonah shook his head. He didn't have to say anything. They were smart enough to figure it out for themselves.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Heather and Jake sat with Mitch and Emily as they waited for their dinner. It was a pretty simple menu: Whatever Davey had, you ate. It cut down on the time it took to get orders in and out. Sometimes, there was an option or two on the menu. Sometimes it was completely set. Today, the menu had options on the meats and the choice of two of three side items.

Aylah and Jonah sat alone at a smaller table, talking quietly as they waited. The restaurant was filled, but not just with Jonah's men. Since Bailey's had a limited menu available, some of the guys went into the tavern to eat dinner, play pool, and relax. Like most people, though, after the crew ate dinner, everyone was going over to the tavern side for dancing and maybe a drink or two. Some, like Aylah, wouldn't drink. Some would. No one was worried about anyone overimbibing, since everyone had to wake up and get back to work the next day. More than one alcoholic in town had discovered the joys of sobriety while completing backbreaking labour. None of those who'd had the experience of doing construction work with a hangover wanted to repeat the experience.

Jake and Mitch were not exactly good friends now, but they weren't competitive with each other anymore. It would be more accurate to say that Jake had assured Mitch that Emily was not his point of interest any longer, even though he'd always care about her. Mitch hadn't asked Emily about Jake yet, but she was just now getting used to the idea of Mitch as something more than a diversion from everything that was lousy.

"How did you stand keeping the kids in the shop, Heather?" Emily asked, sighing. "I was ready to strangle them all by the third point for the day."

"Wasn't hard. Then again, I'm better at looking innocent than you are," Heather said, grinning at her friend.

"But you can't bluff worth a damn," Emily grinned. "You just get too happy when you have the right cards." Heather shrugged and Emily went back to her complaints. "We were talking about lubrication-"

Jake and Mitch choked on their drinks, gave each other a glance, and quickly looked anywhere else in the room. They didn't dare look at one another again. If they did, they'd both be in the doghouse.

"See?" Emily said, indicating the two offenders. "That's exactly the same crap I had to deal with today! I swear, the morning-after scene in Romeo & Juliet was easier to get through! You would not believe the jokes I heard today!"

"I would," Heather said, trying not to laugh. "Applied Mechanics, remember? I probably wrote half of those jokes."

"Not you, too," Emily groand in protest.

"Face it, Em," Heather said, her grin finally winning, "you're just too hot for the guys to concentrate. Maybe Mitch or Jake could take over the lube lessons." Her face was absolutely innocent. Her delivery was honest and forthright. Somehow, Emily was sure that she'd just been the victim of a very, very naughty joke.

Jake and Mitch were obviously trying not to laugh. Heather was just smiling and giving her an earnest look.

"I hate you," Emily muttered. "All of you."

That was enough. The three culprits howled with laughter as Emily pouted. Mitch dropped an arm around her and squeezed her in a one-armed hug.

"Don't worry, Emmyjean," he managed. "I'll be sure they learn to keep everything just slick enough."

Emily elbowed him and Jake, realizing that Mitch was digging himself the hole, decided to stay out of it. Instead, he turned to Heather.

"Offering up my expertise to a group of kids, hmm?" he murmured to her, unheard by the other two, who were indulging in one of Emily's favourite hobbies, bickering. "Care to help me demonstrate the proper way to lubricate various couplings?"

Heather just gave him a look from the corner of her eye. "Be careful, Jake. You know exactly how willing I can be to help out."

"You wouldn't," he said, eyes narrowing.

"Wanna make a bet?" she replied, giving not one iota.

Jake studied the woman next to him. No, he wasn't entirely sure she'd back down. No, he honestly couldn't say he knew she'd chicken out. Yes, he was curious as a herd of cats - did cats herd? never mind - about what had made her such an uninhibited lover without spoiling her joy or tainting her view of life. Did he really want to call her on this? He had the strange feeling he'd be the one blushing. Heather Lisinski was any number of things, sweet, funny, smart, handy, wild, gentle. No one in his right mind would call her timid or unsure of herself. She often seemed that way, but he'd come to figure out it was more to keep other people comfortable with her than it was a lack of backbone.

"No," he replied, looking into those calm eyes. "No, I don't." He waited a beat, then asked, "Why did you always seem so…" he couldn't find the word.

"Awkward? Innocuous? Guileless?" Heather knew he would ask her some day. "Perky?" She gave him a lopsided grin with the last one.

"Perky works," he replied. The more he learned about her, the more there was to find out. Yes, he was addicted. The simple fact was that her kisses made him forget everything and everyone around them was still there, but he wasn't ready to deal with that yet. He also wasn't ready to deal with the perfectly calm sensation he had when he was with her - and the fact that he looked for her when she left the room. Or the way he simply knew that he could tell her about the time he'd spent overseas and not have her turn tail and run.

"Kids respond easier to perky. I like working with the younger kids - they're more willing to let go and try new things. They're…more honest about their curiosity. My students weren't old enough to start hiding their interests from fear of being pariahs." Heather shrugged. "It helps those that are a bit shy if I'm just as curious and enthusiastic as they are. Y'know, I've learned a little something more every time I do some of these basic experiments and the like. A new dimension, something I didn't see before, it doesn't matter what, but there's always a new little thing that I find out." Her eyes dimmed a bit, but from what, Jake couldn't tell. "And there's a lot more to it than that." She paused then brightened up again. "You'd be amazed how hard it is for parents and coworkers to stay irritated with me, though." She gave him a bright, innocent smile.

Jake chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "You are one wicked woman, Heather Anne Lisinski," he said. "Someone should've spanked you as a child."

Mitch, having just promised Emily that she would be on the receiving end of a spanking, caught that last line. Emily was pouting, but there was a gleam in her eyes that told her lover that she was anticipating the night just as much as he was.

"You're perfectly able to take on that little bit," Mitch told Jake, getting a glare from Heather. "Sorry, Little Sis," he said, grinning unrepentantly, "but if you're due, you're due."

Heather was about to snap back, but just then the waitress brought out the tray. After delivering the dinners to everyone and collecting half of the bill from Heather, enough time had passed that the brunette had been able to consider the question. For all her time in college with her friend-with-whom-she-happened-to-be-actively-not-sleeping-with, she'd never been curious or remotely interested in anything that smacked of domination, bondage, sadism, or masochism. Then again, she had not been standing on her own and single for long enough to readjust some of her thinking, and a few previous experiences had been too near. She was quiet for too long.

Jake stared at her. Mitch's grin grew wider. Emily blinked. Heather still didn't speak.

"You're not actually considering…" Jake began, not entirely sure what to say.

"Maybe. Then again," Heather shrugged, "maybe not. Never really thought about it, actually."

"Heather, you slut," Emily said, a wicked grin creeping across her face.

Jake took immediate exception, and was about to give Emily a sharp set-down, but Heather beat him to it.

"Who decided I'm the slut here?" Heather snorted.

"Point," Emily said. Without any signal, both women turned and looked at the men, Mitch first, then Jake. Their eyes lingered longest on Jake. Heather and Emily turned their attention back to one another and smirked. They didn't have to say anything.

The men looked at each other.

"I didn't catch that," Jake said. "Did you?"

"Lost me at slut," Mitch replied, eyes narrowing when Jake started grinning. "Shut up, Jake."

"I didn't say anything," the man protested. The gleam in his eyes belied his innocence.

"I heard you thinking it." Mitch looked down at the plates on the table and decided to change the subject. "Who's going to say grace?"

The conversation was dropped and wasn't resumed, even though they visited and traded ideas about some of the things they were working on, including Jake's planes and extending the town power-grid.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"You jumped on me with both feet, Jonah," Aylah said before taking a sip of her drink.

"And you snapped back, which is more than you've done in weeks. I know," he said, putting his hand over hers. "You had your reasons, but you shut down too much. We both know you hate this town, but it's not as bad as you want to believe."

"Really?" Aylah closed her eyes a moment. "Did you catch the way things went silent when we walked in together?"

"Did you ever stop to think that's because we're rarely in here, much less as a large group?" Jonah was patient with Aylah tonight because he needed her to think about her environment more than react to it.

"No," she sighed. "I didn't."

"Then it's not about you or me. Notice I said nothing about the minor altercation you and Heather had with the kitchen." Jonah gave her a little grin.

"Minor altercation?" Aylah couldn't help but smile a little.

"Well, you didn't manage to burn down the house, so I'd say it was minor."

"Next time, Jonah, next time." As threats went, it was pretty much useless, but it kept the mood light. "And we can talk about everything else later," she said, wanting out of this conversation for now.

"But we will discuss it," Jonah said, looking in her eyes. When she nodded, he changed topics again. "You haven't complained about going out to the airfield with Jake to work the tower."

"Jake's…peaceful." It was as close as she could get to what Jake made her feel. Raised eyebrows demanded more information, so she explained. "At school, I was always at the lunch detention table. Didn't I tell you this?"

"About lunch detention, yes, but not about Jake."

"Oh. Well, he got detention one day, and we were allowed to play-"

"Othello," Jonah shook his head. "They still let you play that during detention?"

"Yes. Anyway, he asked me if I wanted to play, so we did. Every time he got lunch detention, or just decided to sit with me, he'd play with me." She left out the part about the peanut butter sandwiches and giving him a kiss on that last day. Jonah wasn't entitled to know everything. "He wasn't mean and he never wanted anything from me. Guess that's my one good memory from before."

Jonah just looked at her, knowing she was leaving something out. It was her story, and she wasn't lying to him. They never did lie to one another. Instead, he said something about Jake and good memories.

"Jake didn't leave a lot of good memories behind him," he said, "but I suppose this one makes up for a lot of the bad ones."

"Not for anyone but me," Aylah said. "You can't have my memories, Jonah. They're like my mind - all mine and forever mine."

They noticed the laughter from Jake's table.

"Never thought I'd see that," Jonah mused. "Jake and Mitch at the same table, with Emily, and none of them arguing."

"Don't speak too soon," Aylah cautioned him. "Emily and Mitch are explosive."

"True."

"And when are you going to start talking to her about-"

"No." Jonah shut down that line of questioning immediately. "And don't mention it again."

"Tonight," Aylah said, not really wanting to fight. "But we will go over this until you see I'm right."

"Aylah." It was a warning, not that Aylah was worried. They were in public, though, and it was a pleasant evening, despite the minor altercation she'd had with a major appliance earlier in the evening.

"How's Johnston holding up?" Aylah asked, going back to a conversation they'd had the other day.

"Fairly well. The alliances we've pulled together with New Bern and Hayes are working beautifully, even though there are a few little things here and there, and to get New Bern fully operational, we may have to ration a bit more strictly than we'd like until the greenhouse crops are ready. Other than that, the winter crops are in the ground and we're just waiting for them to grow."

"Heard they have an assembly plant of some kind," Aylah added, "and our plans for windmills?"

"They do, and they're making wind turbines and wind mills for us, for Hayes, and for trade, if we get in touch with any other groups. There's a vague rumour of a trading post, but no other information yet."

With that, conversation drifted into the potential of trade, the town, and the people at the shop. Occasionally, they'd dip back into a less comfortable subject, but not often.

J*J*J*J*J*J

After dinner, the group drifted over into Bailey's. There was a convenient hole in the wall between the two businesses now, courtesy of Davey, Mary, and an afternoon with a sledgehammer. They had put in a sliding door to keep the noise out of Davey's and had reached a standing arrangement. Davey had agreed with Mary to keep the alcohol in the tavern, unless someone specifically asked for a drink with their meal. Mary would decant the wine for him, sometimes a homemade wine from the St. Xaviers, and send it over in a carafe. Few people actually asked for more than a wine or straight drink, but knowing the two businesses were working together reminded the patrons to do the same. Everyone loved it.

As soon as Skylar walked into Bailey's, Mary looked around the bar. It wasn't completely packed, but it was full enough that she didn't want to yell. When Jonah walked in, she just pointed to Skylar, at a booth with Leon and Lisa. Dale had just joined the group after dropping Mary's order in the storeroom. Jonah shrugged, then walked over to the bar, knowing he'd have to explain.

"Jonah? What is this? You want me to get my license pulled?" she hissed, leaning close to him.

"By whom?" he asked, giving her a steady look. "Look, they're voting, they're working, they're not going to forget about work tomorrow. If they do, they'll pay for it. So long as they don't get stupid, and they're about fifteen or so and working, don't push it. If they cause a problem, we'll take care of it then." They looked over at the group, which was one of the better behaved, quieter groups of the night. "Honestly, they'll be so thrilled about 'getting away' with it, they'll try not to get kicked out."

"What did the mayor say when you told him this?" Mary asked, suspicious of his decision.

"Haven't yet, but I'll make sure I do tomorrow. If he objects, we'll hash it out then. Otherwise," Jonah shrugged and left the subject there.

"All right," Mary said, blowing out a breath. "You're the sheriff." She motioned to the stock she had. "What'll you have?"

"Bourbon for me, coffee for Aylah," he said.

"Do you know about the kids?" she asked, pouring the drinks he requested.

"Good brandy for Sky, don't know about the other two. Leon likes martinis."

"Gin or vodka?"

"Don't know. He didn't drink them around the shop. Then again," Jonah said, "we didn't exactly take orders."

"Gotcha." She slid the bourbon and coffee to him. "I'll go over and get orders now. Do you think I'll be overrun by teens?" It was a horrible thought. The only one worse was becoming the Mommy-and-Me Bar. The thought made her shudder.

"Not anytime soon. It'll take them a while to get used to this privilege," he said, taking the drinks and smiling. He spoke next to her real concern. "They'll make sure they don't lose this privilege, especially since they can't drive much. Besides, do you really think they want to deal with me when I'm upset about something they did or caused?"

Mary gave Jonah a long look. She'd broken up more than one barfight, but she wasn't eager to test Jonah, no matter the age difference. When he just grinned a bit bigger and turned away, she knew she had to concede the point. Mary grabbed her ticket book and walked over to the booth where Leon sat with the girl who interested him most right now.

"What'll it be?" she asked, gliding into place at the table.

"Martini, if you have the liquors," Leon said. He'd wanted a good martini for more than two years now. "Gin, not vodka."

"Not a problem," Mary said, grinning. Jonah was quiet and she was still a bit scared of him based on years of experience with him when he really _was_ bad, but she had to admit there wasn't much he missed when it came to people. Then again, neither did she, which was why she really didn't want to tangle with the man. "And the rest of you?"

"Brandy," Skylar said, "which kinds do you have?"

Mary listed off three brands, none of which Skylar liked, and then added, "I also have apple brandy from the St. Xaviers and cherry brandy from Old Man Adams. It's stronger than the apple, but with just a hint of cream, it's heavenly."

"I'll try it," Skylar said, smiling. She had no idea what Jonah'd said to Mary, but she knew that he had to have a hand in this.

"Do you have any of the strawberry wine Mr. St. Xavier makes?" Lisa asked, hoping Mary did.

"No, but I do have a nice zinfandel. I'll see if I can get some of the strawberry wine from St. Xavier." She jotted a note down on her ticket.

"No, I'll take a red. Merlot?"

"Got it." Mary made a note. "Only have one brand, but Mimi seemed impressed when she saw the label."

Lisa grinned, knowing the IRS lady from the Richmond farm. "How impressed was she?"

"Does the phrase 'cat that ate the canary' mean anything to you?" Mary hadn't expected such a calm reaction to her presence. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. She thought of Shawn Henthorne. Then again… Mary noted Lisa's merlot on the ticket and then turned to the last member of the group.

"And you, Dale?" Mary asked.

"Just coffee, please," he said, "I've still got to finish up the inventory at the store."

"Late night, then. If you need some help, I close at about nine." It was the least she could do.

"I should be done by then, but if you see the light on, knock. I'll be glad for the help." His face was still serious, the circles under his eyes getting smaller, but it was clear that he still had many sleepless nights.

"Will do. Give me a few and I'll get these over to you." Mary turned back to the bar and thought about Jonah's philosophy. He could be crazy, but he might just be on to something here. The song on the jukebox changed and "Sharp Dressed Man" spun up just as Eric walked in with his father and the Carmichaels.

Teresa Carmichael stopped suddenly and hissed under her breath. Her husband, well accustomed to his wife's temper and habits, paused and waited for an explanation.

"Lisa," she said, nodding toward the table.

"Let it go, Teresa," Carmichael said to his wife. "It wasn't that long ago that you were enjoying a drink with your friends in Castile."

"Not the drinks," she said, impatient with her husband's density. "She is with that _cabrón_." Mamá was not happy. "American drinking laws are stupid, but this…that she should see something in _him_ when he is so much older-"

"He's only twenty-three. If you recall, you were all of seventeen when I met you. In a bar. And how old was I?"

"That was different. You were worthwhile. He is just a-"

"A man who's doing what needs to be done." He looked around the room and moved Teresa over to the side of the door. "Look, Teresa, if you push on this, you'll just end up with a fight and she might do something drastic. You both fight the same way. I should know," he added, giving his wife a wry look. "Do you really want to cause a rift between you and your daughter?"

"No," she said. "But I will speak with him." She saw the pleased look in her husband's eyes. "Do not get too full of yourself, _gaucho_. I have not yet made my decision as to this…man." The last word was not said with any confidence that Leon was, indeed, male, much less a man.

"You're too kind. Now, we have a dinner meeting, if you'll recall." As they walked to the table, he noticed his wife's stride had become sharper. It was going to be a long week.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Johnston looked at his old friend, caught his attention, and flicked a glance to the teens. Jonah just raised an eyebrow at him, and Johnston walked over.

"Jo?" Nothing else needed to be said.

"Just watch them, John. You'll understand why soon enough." Jonah was perfectly calm, his fingers tapping the tumbler in his grip.

"Don't need to watch them. This might come back to bite you," Johnston warned, knowing all too well how parents could be.

"This falls under stupid rules, John. So long as the kids are good, let them run. When they do screw up, well, make sure they know it. Fast."

Johnston shook his head, and walked on to his meeting with the Carmichaels.

J*J*J*J*J*J

The music changed again, this time to something easy and slow.

"I have to get back," Dale said, his internal clock tugging him away. "I'll see you tomorrow at the shop, okay?" Lisa and Leon ignored him, knowing he was talking to Skylar.

"Sure. If you come out late enough, you can join us for dinner," she added. The hope in her voice made Dale smile.

"I'd like that," he said. He left a minute later, after he and Skylar traded a long, intense look. There was a tiny smile on his lips as he left.

While Skylar and Dale were saying goodnight without words or any more contact than joined hands, Leon turned to Lisa.

"_Baile conmigo_," he said, looking into her dark eyes.

"_Ahora_?" she murmured, thinking of how ridiculous she would look dancing in these long skirts. Almost every woman in the bar was wearing the skirts, including Lisa and Mary. The two exceptions were Aylah and Heather. Even Emily was in the old-fashioned clothes, but since she had been a history major, it was understandable.

"_Sí_," he said, standing and pulling her up by the hand. "_Ahora_."

"All right," she said, standing a second later. Her long skirt was black, her warm blouse red with a black and white vest, very proper colours for a Spanish lady. Her mother approved of her dresses, at least.

Leon escorted Lisa out onto the makeshift dancefloor, also known as the open area between the steps and the bar. They didn't indulge in the lazy arms-around-waist-and-neck style of swaying-more-or-less in rhythm that most people in Bailey's called dancing. He placed his hand at her waist and kept her other hand in his as he moved them into an easy Latin dance. There wasn't much room, so they didn't indulge in the show-dancing, but instead kept all of their moves within about three square feet. With this song, it wasn't hard to do.

J*J*J*J*J

Teresa Carmichael watched her daughter dance with that…man. True, he did nothing to push her in any way, and was quite the gentleman on the dancefloor. Perhaps she would wait, see what happened between them over the next several days. Perhaps this would all be forgotten as time and necessity dictated their lives. She saw the expression on her daughter's face and the look in Leon's eyes. Then again, perhaps this was the beginning of something much more serious.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Leon's eyes were relaxed as he looked down at Lisa. She wasn't much shorter than he was, about five-seven to his five-eleven. He'd spent his time with the wrong women. Perhaps it was time he looked for the right one. He was, after all, the last of his family. For a man who was raised to believe family was all, being the last living da Silva changed many things in his life. He'd started looking for the right woman, and he hoped that Lisa of the black eyes and wide smile, Lisa of the quick mouth and the sure hands, would be the mother of a new generation of da Silvas.

Lisa relaxed into the steps and the rhythm. Leon could dance. He was smart, funny, and he could talk to her for hours without getting tired. They hadn't done anything more than talk and work for over two weeks, which is how long they'd gotten to work together, but she was happy.

This time last year, she'd been fretting over some guy in the senior class and wishing he'd take her to the winter formal. She'd gotten her wish and she hadn't been thrilled with it all. Two months ago, she'd been giving Dale a hard time and giving long looks to one of the guys who had more brains than the average rock, but wouldn't hold his own with the exceptional, much less gifted, rock. Now she was dancing with a man who wouldn't have been in her social circle, who her mother would never approve of, and who was interesting in his own right - he didn't need to be forbidden fruit to be fascinating. She didn't need to have his hands all over her to understand he was interested, too.

She wondered how much of this change had to do with the attacks and how much of it was simply growing up.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

The Rough, Rusty Spanish: *Cabrón = bastard, to go with a nice translation. *Baile conmigo = Dance with me. *Ahora = Now? *Sí, ahora = Yes, now.


	33. The Days After: 50

**Timeline: **Bombs + 50

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

"Jonah?" It was Christine, one of the girls from the Stevens place. "Got a minute?"

"Sure, kid," he said, putting the file to the side. So far, his job as sheriff had been easy to handle. There had been only a few things he had to handle personally. Most of the work had been done by his deputies, which now numbered ten. There were five trainees from the school, two clerks, and the Runners. It wasn't as though he was without work, though. He was still a part of the council, part of the Tybee Rangers leadership, and he still managed his business, such as it was now. There was little in the works of the town that he didn't know something about, which helped him decide which complaints to deal with immediately and who to send to placate the citizen making the complaint. He monitored the Rangers that were actively roaming the highways and keeping things outside of Jericho proper in line. "Whatcha need?"

"I was wondering…would I be able to join the Rangers? I'm completely healed up now, and I'm doing okay. Right now, I'm at loose ends. We've gotten the house set up, we've gotten the long skirts and jeans and so on from the clothing sections, but I've already graduated from high school and was working on my Associates when everything happened. I need to do something, but…" her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

"You don't know enough of the people to work in town, you're not sure what exactly you can do around here, and you're feeling useless. Does that about sum it up?" Jonah's eyes were kind as he said it. He understood completely. Even though he'd been out grabbing things as soon as the bombs went off, he hadn't had a real direction for his work until Aylah showed up and pushed. Survival, of course, but other than that? He hadn't looked closely at his options.

"Pretty much," Christine admitted. "Randy feels the same way," she added, thinking of the long talks they'd had over the last few days. "He's not up for the Rangers, though. I'm not sure he could handle another military-based group right now."

"Most likely not," Jonah mused. "So, what was your Associates work in?"

"Technically it was history, but I've spent most of my research time working on things about technology and methodology of the past, oh, three hundred years - Industrial Revolution-type stuff." She shrugged. "We've got a lot of things already in the works, thanks to the people who lived during the Depression and WWII and the farmers' families, so I'm not sure exactly what I could do to help." She looked down. "I haven't exactly been asking a lot of questions about the town."

Jonah thought for a minute, and came to a decision. "There are two people you need to talk to, more than me. One is Gray Anderson. He's been working with the business community here, what's left of it, and they're reorganizing a few things to make it easier to keep track of materials, supplies, and records. The other is Miss Maddie. If nothing else, she can give you a direction to focus upon with research and historical information needed. She'll work you, but she's good."

Christine nodded. "Okay," she wasn't entirely thrilled with the idea of working with a man, but she'd do it. Miss Maddie she'd met shortly after she arrived. Christine liked her, but wondered why Jonah would say she was such a hard taskmaster.

"You can use the phone outside. It's better to call them, get a time to see them. You have lunch yet?"

"Not yet. I thought I'd try something at Tater's." She wrinkled her nose. "Is that really his name?"

Jonah laughed. "It's an old joke, actually. Let him tell you. Besides, Tater's is owned by a woman. She did most of the cooking until just a few years ago. Her son and grandson run the place now, but they use her recipes, and if she decides they're not up to her standards, she comes in to direct for a few days."

"Oh." Christine looked at the slip of paper Jonah handed her. "Short numbers," she commented.

"Less than six thousand lines on our local phone system. No need for the seven digits or an area code."

"Guess not." Christine looked at him. "Thanks, Jonah." She rose to leave.

"No problem." He was about to say something else, but saw Gracie Lee coming toward his office. "Meanwhile, I have some work to do. Thanks for dropping by Christine - and ask Miss Maddie about the Rangers. Her grandson is one of the trainers."

"I will. 'Bye." With that Christine left and Gracie Lee stomped into Jonah's office.

"Jonah! WHAT does Gray Anderson think he's doing?" she demanded. "He waltzes into my store and starts giving ME instructions on what to carry and what to exchange with Bobby Gamble at the hardware store? I don't know what that…that…galoot thinks he's going to do with MY store, but I will not…"

Jonah listened as Gracie ranted on. He sighed in the silence of his mind. It was going to be a long day.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Christine picked up the phone and dialed Miss Maddie first. Was Miss Maddie available in the afternoon? Of course she was, and no, there was no trouble. Any company and any extra hands were welcome, though Christine would have to come to the library for the meeting, since Miss Maddie was working on some of the more difficult research concepts with the younger children that afternoon. The morning had been devoted to applications tests for what they'd already learned - and two-o'clock should be just fine. Make sure to pack a dinner from Tater's or Davey's, too, since there was little chance that Christine would be able to reach the house before nightfall. Miss Maddie would be expecting her.

Christine hung up the phone, slightly dazed. All she had done was mention that she wanted to see Miss Maddie sometime today about helping at the library. The rest had been an overwhelming tide of thanks, welcome, and information. She didn't wait before dialing the number Gray used as his downtown office.

"Hello?" The man's voice was pleasant, almost kind. Christine's flustered mind was straightforward, her responses the ones that had been engrained in her from childhood.

"Hello, may I speak to Mr. Anderson?" she asked politely.

"This is he," the voice said. "How may I help you?"

"My name is Christine Rousch. I was hoping to meet with you today and see what I could do to help in town," she said.

"Christine Rousch?" There was a moment of silence while Gray worked to place her. "Of course, Christine from the Stevens place. Well, I was about to go to lunch…have you eaten yet?"

"No, sir, I haven't," Christine said, her initial politeness continuing without conscious thought. "I had planned to grab a bite at Tater's."

"In that case, we can make it a working lunch," Gray remembered what everyone in town had been warned about - if you meet the Stevens place girls, make sure it's a non-threatening situation. Dinner or supper in a restaurant is the best choice, since it's hard to be threatening when you're both eating the lunch that might not take you through to dinner, depending on your work and the daily rations. "Can you be there in the next ten minutes or so?"

"No problem," Christine said, her voice gaining confidence. It was to be a public meeting in a busy place, and usually at least one of Jonah's men or the guys from _there_ was present. It was an unspoken rule that, if the girls came to town, at least one of the men found something to do within sight of them. The men were always careful to be seen by the girls, who seemed to perk up and relax more when they knew the men were around. "And thank you for being able to see me on such short notice."

"My pleasure, Miss Rousch. I'll see you in about ten minutes." With that, they said their goodbyes and Christine let out a long breath. She looked back at Jonah's office, hoping for some sort of encouraging sign, but all she saw was an irate older lady flapping her arms around and, from the look of it, speaking very loudly. Jonah was watching the woman, but glanced over at Christing and gave her a brief nod. The woman didn't even notice.

Christine nodded back and turned to make her way to the door.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Inside Jonah's office, Gracie Lee finally wound down enough to listen to what Jonah was trying to tell her.

"I know you've always carried a certain amount of things that aren't really groceries, and so does everyone else. You're welcome to carry the products that complement the foodstuffs you sell, but things like the pesticides and small tools need to go over to Frances at her nursery and Bobby at his hardware store. There's plenty of things you'll be getting in from the artisan's section for you to sell with the groceries, Gracie. We have people who need to get some cast-iron goods, mason jars, and sacks, which are going to come to you from the others. Frances kept mason jars for giggles and cuttings, Bobby for keeping large numbers of screws or other small things separated, but the jars are needed for canning now. You've got one of the only refrigerated sections large enough to store the milk and dairy products Bonnie's dairy provides and the butcher's goods. Hell, the butcher moved into the storefront next to yours and Dale picks up how much per day from him?"

"A lot," Gracie muttered, unhappy with the logic. "But I still don't see why Gray-"

"Gray is helping the businesses of Jericho organize for most effective use of space, time, and expertise. You're good, Gracie. You know what you're doing with the inventory and the costs of the food items, but you're not as strong with some of the other things. Let it ride for a bit. In three months, if you're not doing as much or more business for the grocery and kitchen supply as you are now, you can come back and tell me you told me so as much as you want. Meanwhile, let Gray do what he knows how to do." Jonah paused. "He's not stupid, Grace, no matter what we wanted to believe while he was running for office. He's big city, but he's not stupid. You've lived here all your life, hell, we went to school together," Jonah grinned at her.

"You're older," she said, not wanting to think about how long ago that had been. "And I did move away from here for a few years."

"But you came back. Why was that, Gracie?"

"Because I hated Wichita," she muttered. "Oh, all right. I'll give it a try for three months. But if it doesn't work out, then I'll do what I see fit."

"Three months is all we're asking. Consider it a trial period for a system we can export to Hayes and New Bern."

"Hmpf." Gracie Lee was not impressed with that argument. "We're exporting enough to those two, thank you very much." She pursed her lips and gave Jonah a long look. "All right, I'll do it. And I've got a few things for your men, if you want to drop by. They were left by Mrs. Henderson, something about liking her spaghetti?"

"I'll drop by. Mrs. Henderson agreed to can some spaghetti sauce for Billy and D'Shea when they went out and fixed her tractor and irrigation pumps last week. She fed them so they wouldn't lose time and they are now addicted to her spaghetti." The easy smile on Jonah's face was just a step from laughter.

Gracie gave Jonah a long look and said, "This new job of yours has been good for you. You're a lot more like the Jonah I knew years ago. A lot of us wondered where you'd gone." She wasn't referring to his time away, everyone knew where he'd been then.

"I don't know why I didn't come home years ago, Grace, not really," Jonah finally said. "I will say it's good to be back."

"Never thought I'd say it, but it's good to have you back, Jonah." With that, she turned and left a bemused sheriff in his office.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"So Gray's got the three types of stores running with what they traditionally handle?" Johnston said, listening carefully to the report from Mimi, the default business-and-supply clerk. She still resented being pressed into service, but she did keep good books. "Who's handling feed and seed?"

"Feed and animal husbandry supplies are being handled by the vet, and seed is at the nursery. Also, the rabbit hutches are more than productive - two new litters as of Thursday. There's been a few rabbits trapped alive, and two of those are…how do you say bunnies are pregnant?" Mimi looked at Johnston, expecting some technical rabbit-based term.

"Pregnant," Johnston said dryly. "Don't worry about the technical terms, Mimi, just get through the report."

"Right. Well, one coop of chickens is filled with the fertilized eggs, and twelve new chicks hatched yesterday. We've got close to seven hundred chickens available for meat now, and within the month, that should increase by another 200. The roosters, by the way, are not any happier than before, even though they have more than enough hens to keep them that way." That statement was accompanied by Mimi showing off her badly scratched arm. "I really don't like chickens."

Johnston choked back a laugh. "Duly noted. How are the artisans doing?"

"Well, the glassmaker has figured out how to make any glass gar into a jar that can take a mason-jar lid. The smith has created a set of molds for the lid types needed for canning. The home economics teacher, her mother, and her grandmother have organized a canning party that meets every Tuesday and Wednesday. From what I understood, they not only can and label the goods, they're giving lessons, too. Either one dollar for admission or two jars of whatever's been canned, supplies can be picked up from the glassmaker and the smith." She paused. "Until the Anderson Model is in place, when they'll pick up supplies from Gracie and return a percentage of the canned goods to her for payment."

"Smart system," Johnston said, seeing the puzzled expression on Mimi's face. "That way the people who do the canning have the supplies their families need, Gracie is getting some of those goods to trade, and the smith and glassmaker can take their profit from Gracie in goods or in cash. Either way, all three groups benefit and the teachers also get a portion of the product for their time and effort."

"Huh. This would never work in D.C." Mimi commented.

"Name three things that actually did work in D.C. that involved people doing things honestly and fairly," Johnston replied dryly.

Mimi thought for a long minute, then tipped her head to the side, acknowledging Johnston's point.

"Mayor, Mayor!" Bethanne came bursting in with D'Shea and the mayor of Hayes in tow. "We've got contact with Mulford and Ness!"

Johnston came out of his seat and barked at Mimi, "Go get the sheriff! Bethanne, get April, Jake, and Eric up here. I want Gray, Titus, Laureanna, and Marcus here as soon as they can come. Get the Runners on it."

J*J*J*J*J*J

"So, Christine," Gray said, taking a last sip of his drink. "You've been working on a degree in history, specifically the methods and technology of the past few hundred years. That makes you absolutely perfect for a position in the business sector here. We've got the mine, the artisans, some things we have for specific trades, but we don't have the skilled workers to actually use, and we've got a small network for trade and industry, such as it is. You are welcome to come in to the office I've gotten set up in what was the CyberJolt Café and look over the set-up we've got."

"I think I'd like that," Christine said, then added, "I'm meeting with Miss Maddie this afternoon about two."

Gray nodded. "Smart lady, and she's worked miracles with the school system here. There have been nearly sixty kids from New Bern to come through for aptitudes testing and they've gone back with a purpose. From what I've heard, and it's only been a few days, they've gotten a small section of their downtown running, too." He smiled and settled back in his chair. Lunch had been delicious. How anyone could make rutabagas and chicken taste like that, he would never figure out. Then again, if he were any use in the kitchen, he wouldn't eat out so much.

"Miss Maddie might have me working on the research, too. I've already thought about a watermill, of sorts." She decided to float that idea out for Gray, since he was dealing with the businesses.

"Oh? For milling grains? There's a plant in Hayes that will be operational-"

"I know. This would be more like a general-use mill. The waterwheel itself wouldn't be turning the millstones, it would be lightweight, set to function like one of the windmills." She had just been thinking about this for the past day or so, and the idea hadn't completely jelled yet.

"Huh." It was an interesting idea. "So what would be manufactured or refined in the millhouse?"

"Well, that's the part that's giving me some trouble. I haven't been in town enough to know what's being made or produced right now. It could power any number of old-fashioned machines, provided we can build them."

"For that, you'll need to contact the group out at Jonah's," Gray said, then added, "or the factory owners in Hayes and New Bern-"

"Gray!" one of the Runners got his attention. Heads turned to see who had called the man, but then conversation resumed as they realized it was one of the Runners on official business. "Town Hall meeting - news. See Mayor Green in his office."

"Urgent?" Gray asked, preparing to rise.

"He's hasn't called the council yet, but it won't be long." The Runner paused, realizing the group. "No emergencies, but you are needed as soon as possible."

"I'll be there shortly." Gray turned back to Christine. "Thank you for the lunch and the ideas. If you'd like to take a tour of the business section, anyone will be glad to talk to you and tell you what they've got in the works. I explained the new system of trade, so there shouldn't be any trouble on that score. Would you like me to walk you to the library first?"

"No, thank you, and I enjoyed the lunch, Mr. Anderson." Christine was able to smile at him sincerely. "I think I have an idea about what I can do here now."

"Like I said, if you'd like to be part of my office, you're more than welcome."

"Perhaps part-time," she allowed, thinking of the other things she could do. "I'll need to see Miss Maddie first." Christine stood, leaving the money for her meal on the table. She was proud enough, Gray realized, she wouldn't accept lunch on him.

"Of course," Gray stood and did the same. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe the Mayor is calling me." He walked out of the door before Christine did, since she had decided to request a simple sandwich and soup for dinner.

Christine waited for about ten minutes while her sandwich was made and the soup thermos sterilized. As she waited, she looked around at the full tables, the walls with ancient pictures of Jericho and her citizens, and the old-fashioned cash register that had only numbers and still popped the little cards up form the body of the register. It didn't even print receipts. When the young lady, one of the owner's grandchildren, came over with the basket, insulated, of course, Christine pulled out the two dollars for lunch and promised to return the basket, thermos, and cloths later that night. She pulled her heavy wool cloak around her and slid on her gloves. It was only November, but temperatures were a good fifteen degrees below normal. After wrapping her scarf over her head, she stepped out into the cold early afternoon.

Avery Miller saw Christine leave Tater's and decided to see how she was doing. He "met" her outside of the hardware store and walked with her to the library, answering questions about the town and the people of the three associated towns of Tybee County. Christine was glad for the company and upbeat when she went in to the library to see Miss Maddie.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"Two more towns?" Gray asked, thinking about the business side of things. "Do we have any information about what they have to trade, their food supplies, anything?"

"None as yet. Hayes mayors & council are proposing a visit with reps from each of our three towns. I was hoping Gray and Titus would go, Jake flying." There were blinks all around at the odd pairing. Titus and Gray didn't exactly get along, but they each had their strengths. Jake was known to be a pilot, Johnston's son, and wore a deputy's star. Jonah and Johnston would be in town, Johnston protected, Jonah doing the protecting.

"Who's going from New Bern?" Titus asked, his voice thoughtful.

"The new deputy mayor, one Russell Jones, and a woman named Anne Lisinski." Johnston looked at Jake, no need to ask the question.

"That would be Heather's grandmother. From what I gather, she's about as tough as they come." Jake was outwardly calm, but his heart was pounding at the thought of meeting Heather's family.

"Well, she's going, and they've left the exact number to accompany those two open, just in case they realize someone else needs to go. Jake, you'll be the eyes and ears for the Rangers, so keep sharp." Johnston paused to think if there was anything else he needed to add.

"Will Jake be flying the entire group, or just the Jericho contingent?" Jonah asked. "I'm concerned about security for the plane while it's on the ground. It's a short hop from here to there, but I definitely want at least one or two Rangers to guard the plane. If we have three or four more people in the plane, that cuts down on the number of guards."

"Paranoid, aren't you?" Johnston asked Jonah.

"It's my job," Jonah replied. "I'm willing to send quality, not quantity. Jake needs to go into the towns with the group, and I'm betting that Russell isn't a pushover."

"Weight also affects airtime. The more people we cram on board, the less distance I have to play with on a single tank. Does Mulford even have an airfield?" Jake asked, trying to forget he'd be ferrying Heather's grandmother to meet more people. They had plenty of the fuel left right now. There was even more available in New Bern and Hayes. There were a few trips left out to the Rogue River airfield, rescuing planes and parts and, of course, fuel. He figured at the current rate of use, they had through next winter covered, with no resupply available. If they did get a resupply, the time would increase significantly.

"I have no idea," Johnston said after a moment. "Grab one of the atlases for the Tybee-Laramore area."

Bethanne walked over to the reference shelves and pulled out a large atlas that detailed the Tybee county area. She brought it back and handed it to Jake, who knew better than anyone else there what to look for.

"Do we want to address the possibility of extending the Rangers to Laramore County? I mean, that's a lot more area to cover," Eric added, knowing the answer.

"More people, more area, more security," Jonah said, thinking of what he remembered of Laramore's towns. "And these towns are small, but there are two family ranches and a good ten or twelve large farms in the area. Horses, too."

"And they've got some local artisans," Gray added, thinking about what he'd read over the past several days. "A potter, two leatherworkers, and a handful of others. I think one carpenter works more with handmade furniture and the like than construction."

"Then that will definitely help the rest of us," Titus said. "There are no few carts or wagons that can't be used quite yet because we can't repair the leather properly. Some are jerry-rigged, but if the horses pullin' 'em weren't old, the drivers would be in a world of hurt. Carpenter can put some of the more complicated things together for the carts, too."

"Saddles, too," Jake added, staring at the map of Mulford. No, there wasn't a landing strip per se, but there was a nice dirt road just outside of town that would work well. He noted the area with a pencil and flipped over to Ness. There was a tiny airfield there, but it was farther than he preferred to get into town.

"Amen," Gray said, thinking about the time he'd spent on an old, broken-down saddle over the past few days. His trip out to the farms last week had been pure misery. He wasn't a Western-style rider, but even the English saddles were taken by those who were doing more riding, mostly the Rangers and a group of others who worked from horseback, and there were few of them for public use in good times. What's worse was that he knew that there wasn't another saddle available to use. Most kids who rode to school didn't have saddles; they rode bareback or with nothing more than a saddleblanket.

"All right, that's Mulford. What about Ness?" Marcus asked, knowing he'd be on that plane come hell or high water. "Larger town, but smaller than New Bern. Don't they have some sort of plant there, too?"

"They do, and they have good soil. Several farms, no ranches, and a lot of acreage to protect. I think the town size was, total, 6,000 before the plant closed. Since that happened only a year or so ago, a lot of people drifted out of town for jobs." Johnston supplied that from memory. "Thank God we have the mine." It was the only thing that had let Jericho's population grow in the last fifty years. That and the small group of people who could and did work from home and didn't have to commute to work everyday. "They supply much more than that from their crops - a lot of livestock feed, too." Johnston's eyes twinkled. "That includes soy and alfalfa, which no one wants to admit is also people-food." Knowing grins were traded. According to more than one person here, beef was food. Soy and alfalfa were what food eats.

"So they'll have winter crops in as well, and most likely have to prevent spoilage on what was already harvested." Gray's tone was thoughtful. "I think we can manage something, Johnston, given the sheer number of supplies we have available from these three towns."

"If Corbitt is still in charge of Mulford, they'll have done a lot of the same things we did, including the greenhouses and procuring supplies from other sources," Titus added. His phrasing was delicate because the raid of Rogue River had been so thorough that little of use, if anything of use, was left in that town. The trains were a different story - no one felt guilty about the trains. "Come to think of it, they had a lot of warehouses nearby Mulford, used by the big trucking companies for the Nebraska-Kansas-Colorado-Wyoming area, coming out of Texas and the southwest. Probably took care of those, too."

"Probably. Ness has been shrinking lately, so it's probably mostly the oldtimers left. They'll have forted up well, but I can't say much about what they'll have available for trade." Johnston thought for a long minute. "Gray, since we're leaving day after tomorrow, get with Mimi and the business community and work up a trade schedule. Laureanna, please look at medical and herbal supplies. I know we've got more sulfa powder than we can shake a stick at, thanks to the mine, so we can trade for that and a few other things right off. Find out what we need. Jake, Marcus, talk to the sheriffs. See what they've done for security, if anything. If there are any problems they're aware of, we'll help them get shed of them. Titus, you know what's possible better than I do."

"Mayor?" It was Jimmy from the sheriff's office below. "The Hayes group is here. Came in on their planes about twenty minutes ago and just got here from the airfield. What should I tell them?"

"Tell 'em we're headed down to the conference room right now. Get the council in here, since this is going to be a Tybee question. Who'd they bring?"

"Said it was six representatives of their council," Jimmy's eyes grew wide. "Oh, and I was supposed to tell you that the New Bern delegation is on its way by truck. They'll be here in about thirty minutes. They're bringing the deputy mayor and about five others."

"All right then. Send them to the conference room when they get here. We've got a rough idea of what we want to do, but we need to fill in some of the details with their information." Johnston smiled at Jimmy. "Good job."

"Thanks, Mr. Mayor," Jimmy said, beaming. He wasn't stupid by any means, but he was an open and friendly man by nature. No one wanted to see Jimmy hurt or upset by a careless comment.

"Jimmy," Jonah added, making the man turn back to face his direct boss. "After you get the New Bern group settled, take the rest of the night off. Get Billy in here to take over for you."

"Yes, sir, Sheriff!" Jimmy said, eagerly anticipating an evening with his family. He hotfooted it down to the office, not wanting to stick around and have Jonah change his mind-not that Jonah had done anything of the sort before, but there was always a first time.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

*Mulford is fictional, Ness is not; Tybee County should be Fillmore County according to canon, but I just found that out about five minutes after I found the town name of Ness. Since I've been using Tybee instead of Fillmore, and both are fictional, I'll stick with Tybee. Kudos if you can figure out where the name "Mulford" came from!

*Given the map of the four states I mentioned, Denver's a bit more than two hours away, as mentioned in canon. In a straight line, it's about the same distance to Denver as it is to the Oklahoma border due south. The flatness of Kansas is one of the things they'll be dealing with soon, as well as the majority of the state being plains with a few stands of trees that might, if one were being quite generous, be called forests, there will be the need for wood, etc., cropping up soon. There will also be some of the unexpected side effects of having explosions & EMPS in the northwestern areas near Yellowstone and the nuclear winter, which is colder than usual.


	34. The Days After: 52 through 54

**Timeline:** Bombs + 52-54 (gloss)

**A/N:** Details will be part of the later chapters in plot/dialogue; needed to get from point A to point B here.

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Jake looked over the controls, then over his shoulder at the passengers he was carrying. In a thirteen-passenger plane, including co-pilot's seat, five were Rangers, two were negotiators for Jericho, and the rest were from New Bern and Hayes. More Rangers were following in the second plane, flown by a Hayes pilot. The aerial escort was a pair of repaired WWII planes, the Spitfire and a P-39. The planes weren't as sexy as they had once been, but the armament had been lovingly restored and was fully usable.

It was now or never. He called over the radio to the tower, manned this time by Old Man Adams, and then to the other planes. The Spitfire went up first, considering how maneuverable the plane was, and the two passenger planes followed. Finally, the P-39 took the rearguard.

Once in the air, it was just a matter of returning to earth in a controlled crash. Jake hoped the two towns were more interested in being friends than in creating difficulties.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Anne Lisinski settled back into her seat and watched the dark-haired young man in the pilot's seat. She was not surprised at her granddaughter's affection for this one - he was certainly easy on the eyes. Respectful, too, for the five seconds she'd been able to speak to him. Now, so long as he was smart enough to keep her granddaughter happy, she was certain she'd like him. Anybody would be better than that jackass Heather had been seeing in high school.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Gray Anderson looked out the window as the plane taxied down the short runway. He'd spent enough time in planes that he knew the routines almost as well as the pilots. He had gotten a private license, years ago, but found out that he hated flying the planes. It had been long enough ago that he had let his license lapse and hadn't mentioned it to anyone. The last thing he needed was to give the impression that he was a quitter. Again.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Titus Clarind looked anywhere but the window. Others may consider flying an efficient means to get from one place to another, but it was unnatural. There was nothing fun or interesting about being stuck in a thin metal tube with flimsy wings attached to them, bouncing through the sky at a high rate of speed. And to think, at least one of his sister's grandsons had the bad habit of jumping out of the things.

That was neither here nor there. He wondered, though, what the Widow St. Xavier would've thought about all of this change in her town. A small smile creased his weather-beaten face as he remembered her journal entries from the farm. No matter what her thoughts were, she would be certain to voice them loud and often, whether anyone wanted to hear them or not. More than once she had written of dangerous journeys through the territory, Indian raids, and outlaws. Now he was on his own dangerous journey, though the horses were flying through the air.

At the end of one trip, she'd found the town she'd used for supplies burned and every person in it dead or dying.

So far, as luck held, they hadn't had it that bad.

Yet.

J*J*J*J*J*J

On the ground, Heather watched the planes as they gained altitude. She hoped there was nothing bad at the end of the trip. With any luck, they'd be able to carve Kansas out of this again, have their home back. She already had her grandmother back.

Anne Lisinski - grandmother, teacher, trainer, coach, and mentor. After her junior year in high school, she'd needed all of those, and more. As it was, she'd told her grandmother about Jake and how much she cared about the man. Her grandmother hadn't done anything except mention that she'd like to have some time to get to know this young buck who'd captured so much attention.

It was a warning. Heather knew it, so she made provisions for her grandmother to move into her little cabin. She also expected a dinner invitation for her and Jake. Well, most people would call it an invitation. Heather knew exactly what it would be - a command performance from and evaluation of one Jacob Victor Green.

'I swear, Jake,' she thought as the plane became a black speck in the sky, 'I will run as much interference as humanly possible.'

J*J*J*J*J*J

April was speaking to Gail as the morning rush at the clinic cleared out.

"I'm getting as much sleep as I can," she said, laughing at Gail's pronouncement that the baby would be born with a crick in its neck. "But I'm so busy here-"

"That's no excuse. Take good care of yourself and that baby." Gail was unhappy with the hours April was keeping. April took the charts and moved off.

Gail turned and went her way, unaware that April had stopped and closed her eyes, a small, nagging backache cutting into her rest and her ability to concentrate.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Two days later, the delegations returned. Ness and Mulford had contact with three other towns and were more than ready to set up a mutually beneficial support system. The Tybee Rangers were to be reorganized and renamed: Kansas Rangers Companies 1 & 2 would be formed. Kansas Rangers Company 1 would be the original Tybee Rangers. Company 2 would be based in Mulford and cover their county and the one town in Fillmore that was not irradiated or contaminated. There was already a crew out stringing telegraph lines from Ness & Mulford to the closest town, Hayes, accompanied by a strong security force that operated out of the Ness & Mulford police/sheriff departments.

The people of Ness and Mulford were more than ready to trade what they had. The good news was returned to Johnston, and the Rangers Council convened to determine what could be done with and for the new groups. Between the number of veterans and retired military in the area, training wouldn't be much of a problem. Deciding who was in charge, however, could become a three-ring circus. To this end, Marcus, Jake, and the rest of the Rangers would be meeting with Jonah, the Commander, and the others to help figure out how to get everything shaken together in a sensible, manageable way.

"Jake," Anne Lisinski hailed, her thick hills accent drawling his name out to almost two syllables. "When the meeting's done, come see me at Heather's cabin. I've decided to move in here, part of the permanent delegation from New Bern. We'll have dinner and catch her up on the news."

"I'd be…delighted," Jake said, mildly stunned. He hadn't realized how quickly she would decide to move. "Would you like me to take you to the cabin before I get into the meeting?"

"Oh, that's not necessary," she replied breezily. "I've got my own council to attend. Knocking heads together won't take long there - your pa seems to have some sense. No, I'll expect you two about an hour after the meeting. Give me time to pull some dinner together."

"We'll be there, ma'am," he replied. What is it about these Lisinski women that kept him off-balance? He could've sworn that he had just found his footing with Heather. Now he was floundering again. He wouldn't have it any other way. Even though he would never-could never!-view the bombs as a positive event, his life had improved drastically in the weeks since. An association with Jonah was now pulling him into the town's good graces. His father was talking to him like he was more capable than stupid. His love life was actually less screwed up than his brother's. The woman he was with was strong enough to tell him where to go and when, and, from everything he'd seen, her grandmother was as tough or tougher than she was. He couldn't help it. He was going to go to dinner tonight even if he wound up tarred and feathered. Lisinski women were his new drug. Was there a cure for this addiction?

God, he hoped not.

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	35. The Days After: 54

**Timestamp: **Bombs + 54

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Anne Lisinski was quite proud of herself. Between her contributions and the good, sound thinking of the Hayes leaders and Johnston Green - nice boy, that - the meeting that could've lasted for hours had been over in less than one. She had noticed the Sheriff's lights were burning bright and the rooms were packed with the Rangers. Comparatively, she had an easier job. She just got to chime in on how to run things and establish trade norms. They had to keep everyone safe.

On the walk home, a walk because she was certainly not going to steal a ride from someone who needed it, she considered what was in Heather's cabin for dinner. She stopped by Gracie's and picked up a few things she knew she would need for dinner that night. It wouldn't be much, rationing and all being in place as a known safety margin, but it would be filling and tasty. People being people, she knew there were some who were merrily ignoring those rations, but she wasn't one of them. Granted, she'd never gone hungry in her life, since her family had had a large garden that fed them throughout most of the year. Even in the worst times, they had plenty to eat. More and more small gardens were cropping up here and there in Jericho and other rich-soil towns.

Laughing softly to herself, she recalled the knock-down-drag-out she'd had with the mayor of New Bern about what could or could not grow in clay. Granted, they'd never have a huge yield, not like the rich, dark earth in Jericho to the south, but they would have enough to feed the town - and their soil was perfect for growing other things that could be used for trade goods and inedible supplies. Like cotton. Potatoes, legumes, tomatoes, and peanuts also liked clayey soil, and, she'd finally pointed out to the fair-weather leader, combined with compost, concrete could eke out a decent crop. There had been a run to the known worm-beds for compost-helpers, which most fishermen called nightcrawlers. A few other things, like adding gypsum to the soil or some sand, would also help the clay become better for the crops, but the fact that Georgia and Alabama were heavy clay areas and grew large numbers of very different crops really kicked them into working things out. Someone made a comment about some ignorant hayseeds from the South being better at anything than someone from Kansas, and Anne was still quite proud of herself for not pitching a fit then and there. Nothing was more irritating than ignorance from pretentious jerks.

No, Jericho was certainly not New Bern, and for that she was glad. Not that she had anything against the town itself, but she had yet to forgive them all for the treatment of her granddaughter. Poor girl had finally gone running to her in Kentucky for help, and none too soon. No, Jericho was not New Bern, and for that alone, she liked Jake Green. Anyone would be better than that jackass in New Bern.

Her thoughts ran through the past and into the present as she carried the bag back to her cabin. Hers by way of Heather, of course. When she reached the cabin, she simply opened the door. There was little use locking the place, given where she was. Even if she had someone in there, she was armed and she had learned to fight years ago. More than once, she'd had occasion to use those skills, so she wasn't concerned. Nonetheless, she checked the mat before she entered. The only prints on the mat were hers. She walked in and flipped on the light.

It was a matter of seconds to assess the goods she had and come up with a plan. Mere minutes passed before she started prepwork, and she worked steadily until the entire meal was in the oven. Heather had called after the meeting she'd had with Aylah and some of the Rangers broke up. She agreed to pick up her young man and, to hurry them on, Anne had mentioned pouring drinks for them. She could almost hear Heather pale and the stammered reply was encouraging. Given such a response, it was almost tempting to do exactly that.

J=-+=-+=-+J

He'd walked in to the meeting with hope and faith and no little starry-eyed romanticism. He walked out of the meeting with mixed emotions. Granted, Jonah's suggestions were reasonable, the Commander considered everything carefully, and a plan had been put together for implementation. The part of him that enjoyed the feeling of a job well-done was smug and pleased with the past days' events. The part of him that was still a 13-year-old boy faced with meeting the parents of a girl he liked before going to the middle school dance was cowering in near-gibbering terror.

Dinner. With Anne Lisinski. Oh, sure, Heather would be there. Great. Now he could look stupid in front of Grandma and he woman he loved. Loved?

Woah.

Wait.

Loved?

Maybe this was not such a good idea. He was seriously considering turning around and walking the other direction when Heather pulled up beside him on a motorcycle.

"Hop on, Jake. Gran's got dinner in the oven, and we need to get there before she starts making cocktails." Heather's grin under the helmet was mischevious. "Believe me, you do not want Gran deciding how big a martini is supposed to be."

"Right," he said, forcing himself to smile and get closer to her. "You gonna let me drive, or would it come to a fight to get you to let go?"

Heather didn't speak, just gunned the engine for a second and tipped her head to the "bitch pad".

"Stupid question," Jake muttered, unable to keep from giving her a small smile.

"Yeah," Heather agreed.

"Wait. You're a teacher. Aren't you supposed to reassure me there are no stupid questions?" he asked, swinging one long leg over the bike and pressing close to her.

"It's a lie we tell our students. There are stupid questions, but if the kids are worried about asking a stupid question, they won't ask the good ones, either." Heather looked back over her shoulder as Jake pulled on his helmet. "Generally, any question you already know the answer to is a stupid question. Some examples include 'Do we have to do this?', 'Do we have a spelling test on Friday?', 'Can we eat lunch on the playground?', and 'Do I get to drive?'."

Jake didn't bother to answer her, but slid his hands under her jacket and shirt. He hadn't been wearing gloves, so her yelp and glare was exactly what he had expected and desired. Thankfully, he'd spent enough time with her to know to get his feet off the ground in a hurry, because her reaction was take off, whipping through town to her cabin. Most people weren't using modern vehicles because they wanted to conserve as much fuel as possible, but some, like Heather, had a smaller personal vehicle that they used for official and unofficial reasons. Ripping through town at well over the legal speed limit - not that anyone was enforcing those right now - because Jake had irritated her was definitely an unofficial reason. Looking back, Jake would be ever grateful she couldn't hear him laughing over the noise of the engine.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Heather guided the bike through the few turns and long lanes to her cabin. Surely her grandmother wouldn't actually start pouring her cocktails. The woman could kill a mule at twenty paces with the fumes from one of the cocktails - drinking it was a test of pure…something. Idiocy? Guts? Genetic superiority? Heather still wasn't sure, but she knew that Jake would drink whatever her grandmother served, consequences be damned. Why? Because that's Jake. He seemed constitutionally incapable of backing down from a challenge.

Which is why he took up the invitation Gran had to have thrown at him in passing. Heather should have figured this would happen, but she really expected them to get the chance to talk during the visit to Ness and Mulford - which had also included three more towns in short order. Deep in her gut, she knew they wouldn't have time to talk, but then again, it was her grandmother.

Did she dread this last turn to her house, or did she want to know what Jake was like when confronted by someone like Gran?

The answer was just ahead, and Heather was still debating if she wanted the answer.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Anne watched as Heather let Jake off the bike first. Not much of a choice, considering she was driving. The smile was quick and wicked. So far, the boy wasn't bad at all. He didn't even seem to mind riding while Heather drove, which was as it should be. Heather's grandmother turned back to her kitchen and waited to hear the door open.

"Gran?" Heather called as she opened the door. "We're here." _Well, duh,_ Heather thought, mentally smacking herself. _Who else would it be? The Tooth Fairy?_

"Oh, and I haven't had time to throw together a shaker of martinis," Anne said, wiping her hands on a towel and coming to the front door of the cabin. The floor plan was open, mostly, with only a few walls and half-walls cutting the area into definite spaces. The whole 'granny in the kitchen' ruse was more than just a way to put Jake at his ease; it was a way for Anne to walk in unannounced during potentially sensitive conversations and moments. If they couldn't handle those interruptions without getting nasty, there was no hope for them.

Heather tried not to look relieved as she heard Jake's response.

"That's alright, Mrs. Lisinski," Jake said, reverting to the formal modes as his mother had thumped into him - literally. He really hadn't been good at listening when it came to manners. "I have an early day tomorrow with Jonah and an aerial of the Rogue River section, so I really shouldn't drink tonight."

Responsible. Careful. But not missish. Good. Very good.

"Well, in that case, I found some tea in the cupboard - do you drink it sweet, or do you take it without anything like flavour?" she asked, then added, "And call me Anne."

"Anne." The warm smile that accompanied the name was, Jake willingly admitted, a blatant attempt to charm her. He saw Heather squelch a grin. "And I learned about sweet tea when I was at Fort Rucker. Is it too much to hope for ice?"

"Not at all. I have ice and sugar," Anne grinned up at him and her granddaughter. "So there is civilization out here in Kansas. I'd almost given up hope." The young couple grinned and Anne turned back to the kitchen.

"Need any help in there, Gran?" Heather asked, perking up at the thought of annoying her grandmother.

"No thank you, sweetheart," Anne replied, pinning Heather with an over-the-shoulder mock glare. "I like to keep the house standing. Insurance doesn't cover arson."

Jake looked startled and opened his mouth to ask if Anne had heard about the recent cooking fiasco at Jonah's, but Heather beat him to it.

"It wasn't arson! I just…can't cook."

"Honey, the mere thought of you in a kitchen terrifies me, and Lord knows that's an accomplishment. I've never seen anyone so adept with tools and so hopeless when it comes to heating and eating." Anne nodded to the table. "But, if I remember correctly, you're not hopeless when it comes to setting a table. Hop to it." She smiled at Jake. "You, Jake, can come help me carry things to table."

Heather tried not to let her worry show as she went for the dinnerware and Jake followed Anne into the kitchen. If she knew her grandmother - and by now she figured she was the only one here who did - Jake would end up filleted and grilled without even knowing it. Gran would have every ounce of information she needed to make a decision about Jake, and Heather's opinion would only weigh in a bit. To say Anne Lisinski was a tough audience would be like saying the Pacific Ocean was a small parking-lot puddle.

Anne and Jake didn't reappear until ten minutes later, and Jake looked surprisingly well-preserved as he carried out two serving bowls of tasty, but not necessarily abundant, food. Whatever genetic marker kept Heather from making dinner hadn't stopped Anne from creating a feast with the eclectic mix of rations Heather had drawn this week. Now all she had to do was worry about what her grandmother had said while out of her sight.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"So," Anne said, pulling the last pot from the heat and stirring as the sauce thickened. "I understand you're obsessed with my granddaughter."

Jake blinked and replied, "I wouldn't say obsessed. She's fascinating, smart, unpredictable, beautiful…" He paused. "I'll admit to addicted."

Anne laughed and gave directions to him for the small serving bowls she'd use tonight. They chitchatted for a minute, then Anne turned to him and her eyes grew serious.

"She's had a hard time with men." When Jake gave her a startled, questioning look, Anne shook her head. "No, I won't give you the details, but there's reasons for what she does. The only thing you need to remember, boy, is that if you hurt her, you deal with me."

"Not my intention," Jake said. "I never want to hurt her."

"Good, then listen and listen well: There's only one way to live with a woman like my Heather. Don't try to control her. Ever. You'll never hold her if she doesn't want to stay." Anne's eyes were dark with long years and memories. Jake felt his own face grow serious and he thought for a long minute.

"I learned that pretty quick," he murmured, thinking of the trip to Rogue River. "How'd she come to be like this?"

"Like what?"

"So…independent. So strong." He grinned. "I would say hell-bent-for-leather, but she's not reckless."

Anne's expression didn't change as she answered. "You'll have to ask her," Anne held up a hand as Jake's brows started to lower and he opened his mouth. "I'll only say there's a reason for everything, and she's got more than most. Anything other than that, you'll get from her or not at all. Now," Anne paused and tasted the sauce in the pan. "Let's get this out to table while it's fit to eat."

Jake felt his stomach rumble and was willing to swear it inched closer to the bowl on its own. His nose agreed with his stomach - he had no idea what was in this, but it smelled incredible. There was no doubt in his mind that it would taste just as good.

"You can wait another three minutes," she said, noting the way he leaned over the bowls. "Here. God gave you arms and legs - use 'em."

Jake blinked and grinned as he picked up the bowls. Now he knew where Heather'd gotten that phrase. Last time he'd heard it, they had been curled up and he'd asked her to get him a cup of coffee. Given that she'd been mostly asleep - as had he - her grouchy response was nothing unexpected.

"_Hey, sweetheart," he said, cracking open his eyes just enough to resemble wakefulness. "Are you going to the breakroom?"_

"_Eventually," she murmured. "Why?"_

"_Would you get me a cup of coffee?" It was his best pitiful look. _

_She'd not even opened her eyes when she'd snorted and grumbled at him. "God gave you legs. Use 'em."_

_After waiting another five minutes, he'd given up and gotten up to get his own coffee. About the time he'd reached the doorway, he'd heard Heather's sleepy murmur. _

"_Jake?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_While you're up…" Big blue eyes had blinked only once as he'd turned and stared at her. _

_He couldn't help chuckling to himself as he'd gotten the coffee, adding the appropriate amount of milk to Heather's, and going back into the breakroom. Her sweet smile and thanks had been worth it, even if he had razzed her about it._

"_What happened to 'God gave you legs'?" he teased, one arm wrapped around her as she snuggled up against him with her coffee mug wrapped in her hands._

"_Well, you were already up and heading over there, so it made sense. Conservation, you know." Her guileless look had nearly made him choke on his coffee._

"_Witch." He grinned and kissed her temple._

_Heather pouted. "Witch?"_

"_For the next thirty seconds. After that, who knows? Oof." Jake had to keep in mind that Heather had pointy elbows and excellent aim. She'd gotten him right in the solar plexus. Again._

Jake walked out of the kitchen with the bowls and a grin. No, the conversation he'd had with Anne hadn't been rough, but it hadn't been exactly gentle, either. He got the feeling that the old woman learned more about him in those ten minutes than his family had in his entire life.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Dinner was filled with stories, laughter, and precious little conversation about the town, the state of Kansas, the State of Kansas, or the present deprivations. Anne knew how to keep a conversation centered on humour and light discussion. She used this skill to keep the two laughing and teasing all through dinner.

For a reason.

There was an openness that she hadn't seen in Heather for a long time - not with a male she was seeing, in whatever capacity. Anne was old fashioned in many ways, but she was the soul of practicality. To have two such people together and in love - even if they didn't realize it yet - but unable to laugh and tease and play, well, there was no hope for the relationship then.

No, Jake was nothing like that jackass in New Bern. He wasn't anything like the boy from college, either, but then again, that hadn't been love.

Anne hid her smile behind her glass and watched them. Yes, they loved each other, but there was so much more there. Friends, lovers, common ground, common interests, and the same central core of values. Now all she had to do was wait to see when they figured it out.

A serious thought dropped into her contemplations.

What would Jake do when it was time for Heather to tell him about New Bern and her reasons for leaving? What would Heather do when Jake told her about his time…in the…she'd guess Army, but it was well-hidden. She recognized some of the mannerisms because of her late husband's time in, though Jake hadn't served as long.

She smiled as Jake finished a story about his grandfather and the yearly pilgrimage to the cabin with the males of the family. This one involved his brother getting a hook embedded in his belt and losing his balance on the small boat. Jake, being smaller and four years younger, had fallen in immediately after - it had been Jake's line that snagged Eric's belt. The effort to fish the boys out of the lake had wound up with the boat flipping over, the elder two Greens treading water, the loss of the fishing equipment and the day's catch, the medium-sized fish swimming in a large, open cooler until their date with the grill. After showers and rescuing the boat, pizza had been the catch of the day and neither Jake nor Eric had lived down the day yet. The fact that both boys had been teenagers only made it funnier.

By the time the dinner had been consumed and the last of the night's stories had been told, Jake was feeling the exhaustion from the stress of the week. Heather smiled as Jake tried not to yawn. The tightness of his jaw as he barely kept his mouth closed told her he was more tired than he wanted to admit.

"I'll help Gran clear the table, Jake. Go on and relax for a bit. Couch's open." The sweet blue eyes that he'd fallen into weeks before filled his vision. Jake couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks," he whispered, just catching himself as he leaned forward for a kiss. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," she stood, picked up her plate and his, and dropped a kiss on his lips as he tracked her movements. "Shoo."

Anne listened and watched as the two forgot she was there for the moment.

Yes, this could be very, very good.

Disappearing into the kitchen with her arms full, Anne set about filling the sink with hot, soapy water. Inconvenient, the lack of a dishwasher, but useful.

Heather walked in and Anne didn't bother to wait.

"So, when are you going to tell him about Nicky?"

Heather nearly dropped the dishes she was carrying. "What?"

"You heard me, girl." Anne turned, her hands deep in the soapy water. "Now, answer me."

"I hadn't planned to tell him," she said, lifting her chin. Even though her grandmother was about six inches shorter than she was, she felt like a kid again. "It's none of his business."

"So he doesn't deserve to know what made you the way you are." Anne paused for a minute and let Heather chew on that one. "You going to tell him about your uncle raising you? Coming to Kentucky? Your father? Your return to New Bern three years ago - or is he not important enough to you to inform him of that, either?"

"That's not what I said. I haven't planned to tell him because…well, just because." Heather could feel it now. She was going to lose. Bad.

"Of course. Just because you don't want him to know. Just one more question, Heather," Anne said, her voice deceptively mild. "Why?"

Heather tried not to squirm under that direct gaze. Her mouth opened and closed several times. Nothing came out.

"That's what I thought," Anne said, turning back to the dishes. Heather picked up the drying cloth and took her place beside her grandmother. They were almost done when Anne left her with one last thought: "Tell him, girl, before someone else does."

"You wouldn't-"

"No, but he does go to New Bern, and there are some people here who know you right now. You can tell him, or they can. I don't know what he'll say or do, but I do know he'll learn everything, and it will be sooner than you'd like."

"So you think I should just spill it all - tell him about Nicky, about…_that_…everything." The coldness on Heather's face wasn't new to Anne. She'd been on the receiving end of that expression more than once.

"You can decide what to do, but which side do you want him to hear first? Will he believe you when you go in to do damage control, or will he trust another deputy - a man he's known for years?" Anne shook her head. "He's a good man, Heather, I won't sugarcoat it. I like him and he's good for you. But he is a man, and men have strange ways of looking at some things - especially when they're emotionally involved. If you were one of the girls in town he knew by face and that's all, I'd say it didn't matter, but you're not. You're his lover and his friend. Sometimes it's hard to know which way a man will turn when unpleasant information comes into conflict with his preconceptions about his lover."

"So you think he'll leave if I don't tell him first." Heather didn't know what was on her face, but she knew what she felt. She was angry, and upset, and almost betrayed by the idea.

"No," Anne said, giving Heather a calm look. "I have no idea what he'll do."

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	36. The Days After: 58 & 59

**Timeline:** Bombs + 58, 59

**A/N:** Some lines are remarkably close and/or identical to dialogue in the show. The reason for this will be apparent, and no copyright infringement was intended.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

The planes had dropped palettes in New Bern, Jericho, Ness, Hayes, and Mulford. The other towns reported food drops, too. Johnston was more disturbed by the disparity in the countries sending aid than he was the aid itself.

"So, let me get this straight," he mused, thinking about what Hawkins and Jake had just said about the planes and the little circuit boards they found in the parachutes. "We've got vintage Russian planes doing a Chinese drop using Vietnam-era American parachutes. In what world does this make sense?"

"Ours," Jake snorted.

"On the other hand," Hawkins said, looking over the bounty, such as it was, "we've got more to trade and a nice generator."

"Mm. Maybe we can trade that," Eric said, thinking about the wind turbines. They were good on power for the foreseeable future. "Maybe convert it to wind?"

"Not easy, if anyone here has the ability." Hawkins was quiet for a moment, thinking about his wife and children. He wanted to ask about them, but he didn't want to do it here. Perhaps later Johnston would have a few minutes to talk to him. He missed his family more than he'd ever thought possible.

"I'll float the idea by Aylah," Jake said, getting his coat. "If you don't need me here, I'll head back now."

"We're good," Johnston said, thinking about the computers that could read the chips. "Got a few questions for Robert, but you boys head on out. We got a bit of reprieve on the rations we've given ourselves, and if anyone comes in from outside - refugees, I mean - we'll be able to share. So will the other towns." The rationing had been an unpleasant reality the town had agreed to for precautionary measures. No one was being deprived, but no one was being wasteful either. Methods for rationing were explained by the people who had lived through or grown up during the harder times in Kansas, as were certain simple "snacks" used to stave off hunger and keep on an even keel between meals.

Jake and Eric gave their quiet goodbyes, both thinking of refugees and hoping that any such people were able to find shelter and safety soon.

"Robert," Johnstson asked as his sons drove away, "what type of equipment do you need to read that?"

"Well," Hawkins replied, studying the chip, "for starters…"

The discussion didn't last long. Johnston told him to round up every single chip, put them in whatever wouldn't let them transmit, and left. Two resident computer geniuses would meet him by the bank. They would set up in the vault and work there, since the signals wouldn't be able to penetrate the thick metals that comprised the walls of the vault.

Johnston walked to the telegraph station down the block from Town Hall. He nodded to the clerk and asked for Oliver. Oliver wasn't stable, true, but he loved codes and was more than fluent in Morse. The other telegraphers were becoming familiar with his quirks and impromptu codes he threw in. After a few weeks, most of them were able to distinguish each other's methods and styles on the lines.

"Oliver, good to see you're doing well," Johnston said, shaking the man's hand.

"Doin' as well as any, Johnston. What c'n I do for ya?" he replied, moving his hand over the telegraph key.

"Need you to send an all-alert to our network, and it has to be perfect." Johnston's face was calm and serious. That was Johnston's nice way of telling him not to change, add, or encode anything.

"All right," Oliver's shoulders settled back. He closed his eyes, then nodded. "Ready."

"Attention: Supply drop has microchips in chutes. Pull all and enclose in metal, lead best. Bring to HQ for read posthaste. Equipment available. End message. Johnston."

Oliver finished keying the message and opened his eyes.

"We're under invasion, Johnston," he whispered, an echo of his first words. "But it's not aliens, is it?"

"No, Oliver," Johnston said, his voice grave and soft. "I almost wish it were."

J*J*J*J*J*J

Hawkins made his report to the Rangers Command in the early morning, before the Council could meet or the new Representatives get together. There was a representative house, of sorts, now, and so far it was working very well. A total of ten towns were in the network and in the 'new' government for western Kansas. The report wasn't long at all, given Hawkins' tendency to get to the point.

"These chips aren't military," he said, facing Jonah, Johnston, Serena and the rest of the Rangers. "They're based on the same design, but when I found the specs, they are a bit larger and possess more than just a tracking system to the people who created them. There's a tiny GPS transmitter, too, which gives coordinates and some basic information to the receiver."

"So, don't drag this out," Commander Givens snapped. "Who. Sent. Them?"

"A little company called Jennings & Rall," Hawkins said.

"Any other information about them?" Jonah asked, "Other than their anal retentive tendencies with their charity drops?"

"Not a good company," Marcus Clarind's deep voice rolled across the room. "They control Ravenwood - their own private little army on lease to the U.S. for a price, of course."

"Among othah thangs," Hawkins drawled, his accent even more pronounced. "They, ah, had a part in planning out how to keep the gov'ment running in case of a massive disaster."

"Does the 'massive disaster' happen to include multiple nuclear explosions?" This from Commander Givens. The tone was not encouraging, but Hawkins was made of sterner stuff.

"I'm willing to wager that is the most massive disaster they planned for."

Dark looks were traded across the room and Jonah nodded to Marcus. This was something that Jonah had considered ever since Timms and Voorhees were sentenced to good behaviour and allowed to join the workforce. They were staying with Randy Peyton and the group at the Stevens place now, and they were more than a bit chastened by their outsider status there. Between working to gain favour with the town and working to gain an in with the girls and seniors who controlled the Stevens homestead, they were too busy to get into more trouble.

Jonah had arranged for the men of the now-defunct Ravenwood contingent to join the meeting and give any and all possible information about their company to the Command because Ravenwood's mother company happened to drop some Chinese labelled supplies from old Russian planes using very old U.S. parachutes, and Command was more than a bit interested in the information now available via these men.

Marcus went a bit further than than expected summons of the Ravenwood men during the midmorning hour. He sent a Runner for Jake.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Twenty minutes later, Jake Green found himself in front of the Command, biting his tongue and cursing his lousy judgement.

"I never flew for Ravenwood or J&R," he said, "but I heard a lot about them." He flicked a glance at Randy and the rest of the unhappy men, "Not much good. I worked for BlackFall, a subsidiary of Overton & Black. From what I gathered, a lot of the same security procedures were used, but J&R took it to the next level."

"Explain, please," Commander Givens commanded, "in detail."

"Well, the tracking chips were in all of the drops and transports. It was normal - there were a lot of things we took to and from military that nobody wanted to have disappear without a trace. J&R took it a bit more seriously. They were like the real version of the Umbrella Cooporation."

"The what?" Johnston asked, looking confused.

"It's from a science fiction movie - the Umbrella Coorporation basically controlled everything they touched - from politicians to the news to the memories of their employees. The whole story's basic, evil company creates monsters & then covers up evidence by calling survivors - including one of their own best security people, lots of uncomplimentary things on the news. People actually believe the broadcasts, so they think it's all a load of crap and go on with their lives, not knowing the truth." Jake paused. "Not that J&R is quite that deep into controlling their people, but they don't take no for an answer and they sure as hell don't let go once they get a hold on someone or something."

Jake tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it didn't quite work.

"What'd they do to you?" Randy asked, breaking into the report.

"Killed a buddy," Jake said without thinking, "when I wouldn't do a job. We were in San Diego."

"Sorry, man," Randy murmured. Then he caught the looks the rest of the Command was giving them. Randy hushed without being told.

"There's some indoctrination," one of the other men volunteered.

"You are?"

"Arden. The company makes sure that you know you get all the good stuff from them - everything from kick-ass health insurance to a fool-proof 401K that goes anywhere you do, to a pension plan that you can cash in if you want to leave. If you transfer to a subsidiary, though, you don't lose the pension plan or your status in the company. You just get a new job. Man, people been workin' for J&R that started as janitorial staff and worked up into upper management. They make you want to do things for the company because when they succeed, so do you." Arden shook his head. "Hell, I was in R&D until about three years ago. Went to 'field test' and wound up with a transfer into the shooter's side."

"So you know more about the company from the inside than most?" This question from Jonah.

"Yeah. And I know people who know people, y'know? We talked. I was in deep, but since the bombs, I kinda had this thought in the back of my mind - who benefits?" Arden shook his head. "I mean, I know I wasn't doing much thinking, but I really can, when I have the time and some reason to do it. For the last month, I been thinking: Who benefits? The U.S. is still the biggest consumer of pretty much everything, so destroying the market doesn't make sense. Pretty much the only places that see the U.S. as imperialists are in North Korea and so on - even the Russians don't take that line much anymore, and the jihadists were losing ground right and left while we were over there. I mean, who gets the most out of doing this? It isn't the usual suspects - they don't really gain. I mean, if America disappears, who's going to be the demon for the radicals? What's gonna stir everyone up to keep going with this dumbass form of government or religion or whatever?"

"You sound like you've reached a conclusion," Johnston said dryly. "All right, let's hear it."

"Whoever it is, they're American, and it ain't the Prez or the military." Arden sat back and shut his mouth. He'd said more than enough about the current situation, anything else, though, he knew would be said in a less open forum. The company had done a lot for him, true, but he wasn't exactly tied to it anymore. Not like he still had his place in San Diego or his big account in Wachovia anymore. Zapped with the nukes and EMPs.

"Now that's unpleasant," Commander Givens said, feeling her gut turn over. A domestic takeover of the hostile variety. From nausea to blind rage in less than one second. She spat out a word that no one there had ever heard from her.

"Commander?" Jonah said, his question more of a statement.

"Hawkins," she snapped, "Stay here. Arden, Marcus, Jake, anyone else who knows the company from the inside, stick around. Everyone else, clear out - that includes you Johnston, and you, Jonah. I need some answers and I need them from the ones who hold or held clearances before I release anything. Before you say it, Johnston, I know you won't talk, and no one here would intentionally screw us over anymore, but there are some things here that don't involve civilians. And yes, it has to do with the continuation of government and the U.S. nuclear programs."

"Don't take too long, Serena," Johnston said, staring at the wall where the Kansas flag hung. "We need information more than we need security clearances."

Serena said nothing to that. She waited until the last of the people walked out of the room and did something she hadn't done in years. She swore every single person in the room to a confidentiality oath that would, she informed them in a flat voice, be enforced by herself and her .45.

No one wanted to find out how good her aim was on a soft target, so they really considered their acceptance before they committed.

J*J*J*J*J*J

It was after two a.m. when Jake finally stumbled out of the meeting and to his parent's house, he didn't stop to think about the Hawkins family that continued to stay with his parents or Kenchy, who was either at the bar or at his parents'.

The information he'd gotten tonight made his stomach turn and his blood boil.

It didn't help that Hawkins had confirmed the domestic leadership.

It didn't help that they still had no real outside communications, since the shortwaves were not acting properly.

It didn't help that they had no idea what was still out there.

It didn't help to think he may have, however inadvertently, contributed to this fiasco.

It didn't help that he was supposed to be dead in San Diego right now.

He just wanted to be with his family right now, and wondered when his mom and dad lost the magical power of making everything okay again.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	37. The Days After: 60

**Timestamp: **Bombs + 60

**A/N: ** Some lines are remarkably close and/or identical to dialogue in the show. The reason for it will be apparent, and no copyright infringement was intended.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

The music was playing, people were laughing and drinking. Emily had smirked about their song earlier in the day when Jake installed the handpump on the well downtown. He should've done it earlier, but something had come up. Ness and Mulford would object to the unapologetic classification as a barrier to Jake's schedule, but the reality was they had come to just that. Between the towns and the information he'd gone over yesterday with the Commander, he craved the distraction of physical labour. Emily had helped him, true, but she hadn't let up on him all day for his selective memory, either. He couldn't remember it. It was sad and depressing - that much she admitted. And some bald chick sang it. And it was depressing.

Jake stared at the jukebox, willing the answer to appear - and there it was. He grinned, punched in the number and letter, and rapped his knuckles on the playlist for amusement. _Got it. Won't she be surprised._

Emily wasn't paying attention as Jake sauntered back over to the bar. He sat down and they talked for a minute or two about nothing important. She was waiting for Mitch to come in from his report to Jonah; he was waiting for Heather to come in with Aylah and Jonah. A small smile twitched at his lips as he thought of Heather. Just then, the recording stopped and changed. A wailing feminine voice came through the room and Emily looked at him.

"Finally remembered that song," he said. Jake stood, thinking of all the times he'd taken Emily for granted, and vice-versa. "Come on." He held out his hand and Emily took it. It was over and they were adults. They could dance to an old memory.

As the music played and they swayed in the crowded bar, Jake brushed the hair away from Emily's face. He remembered that look. Big blue eyes looking up just a bit at him, lips parted just so. He wondered if she even realized that she was doing it, giving him that kiss-me look. If she was, he wasn't immune to it yet, no matter how much he adored Heather.

"We should be adults and walk away," Emily said, her eyes reflecting the knowledge that neither one of them would, and damn the crowds.

"We should," Jake echoed, his hands cradling her cheeks. He leaned in as she stretched up. For a long, trembling moment, Jake felt like this was new again. A first kiss, years after they'd done everything they could think of with and to each other. As his lips pressed against hers, Mitch, Heather, Aylah and Jonah walked in. Jake and Emily were too occupied to notice.

The kiss quickly became familiar, then, in the middle of the kiss, Emily started to giggle. Jake chuckled and they broke apart. Neither one could stop laughing just yet.

"Guess it really is over," Jake said at the end of a laugh. He looked down into her eyes and saw a friend, one who had known him intimately.

"Yeah," Emily said, seeing the truth in Jake's face. Those eyes hadn't followed her for a long time. She realized that she hadn't missed them - not the eyes, not him, and not _them_, Emily-and-Jake. "I think I still love you, though," she added.

Jake nodded. "I guess a part of me will always love you, too," he said, then caught her grin. He winced. "I didn't mean it like that," he began. Apparently, she was feeling merciful, though, because she just smiled at him, a soft, sweet smile.

"I know." She laid her head on his shoulder and he held her closer closing his eyes and leaning his cheek on her hair.

After so many years, together, apart, loving, and hating each other, it was over. It took a kiss to their old song in a crowded tavern to make them realize it, but they finally did. Jake let the moment go on by, remembering all the good times and the bad. Yes, he would always love her, but it was a peaceful love now, almost like what he felt for his family. That's what she was, even though she wasn't. That didn't make sense. That wouldn't make sense, even if he were drunk, and he'd only had two beers.

Beer was back in Baileys - not the commercial brews, but a homebrew. Kansas wasn't exactly known for its alcoholic endeavours, but this beer was from the St. Xaviers', an earthy, dark homebrew that went down smooth and rich. He opened his eyes and saw Mitch and Heather standing at the edge of the dance floor and watching them.

"Company," he said to Emily. It was the end of the song. They were more than ready to let go of each other.

Emily pulled away from Jake's arms and walked over to Mitch, a more relaxed man than he had been, but he was not smiling now. She took his arm and led him to their favourite booth. Aylah and Jonah joined them, knowing the trouble would come from that pairing before it came from Heather and Jake.

"Well?" Heather asked, not reacting visibly.

"It's over." The simple sentence was enough, but Heather wanted him to understand something else entirely. She needed to tell him something, and he wouldn't like hearing it. Now was as good a time as any.

"Walk with me?" she asked, nodding toward the door. Jake agreed and took her hand. They walked out of Bailey's the way they had for over a month, hands clasped, bodies swaying in easy motion with one another.

Inside, the peace was only skin deep. Mitch was seething and Emily could see it.

"It's over, Mitch," she said as her father walked up. "When you start laughing in the middle of a kiss, it has to be over. He's…nothing anymore."

"You still love him," Mitch ground out, irritated that he was showing her this much of his own emotions. It wasn't time. She didn't see him as anything but relief yet, and now she'd drop him for being a Neanderthal. Damn, but if he lost her over this...

"Like an old doll or a favourite pet - maybe even a relative. That fire burned out a long time ago, Mitch, but I was too busy being stubborn to notice." She slid her hands over his clenched fist. "I know you're the jealous type, but I swear that I'm not into Jake anymore. We've got something good," she added, glancing up at her father and Aylah. She hadn't figured out what to call Aylah yet, not in relation to her father. "That was the last good-bye," she said. She shied away from thinking about what she and Mitch had together, and relief from the thought came in the form of Eric barreling through the door.

"People!" he shouted. "Refugees. Get April down here as soon as you can. Bring blankets and everything else we might need. Jonah-"

"On our way," Jonah called back as the tavern emptied out onto the street.

Emily and Mitch were among the first out of the tavern, despite their place away from the door. Faces, drawn against pain and cold and hunger, filled her vision as she searched the crowd. One face jumped into her view.

"Roger," she whispered, just loud enough for Mitch to hear.

He took a step forward, his hand going to the small of her back. "What?"

"Roger's back. He's here." She walked up to her fiancée slowly, trying to pretend her world, the one she'd rebuilt over the last month, hadn't just blown apart again.

Mitch watched as Emily took Roger's hand and led him into the tavern. He began to understand what it meant to lose in love. It was not better love and lose. It was better not to love at all.

Jonah kept an eye on the people, no few of whom were his deputies or Rangers, and the refugees. He was pleased with the group overall, until he saw the way Mitch was watching Emily with one of the men. He walked over to one of the most volatile of his subordinates, wondering what the problem was.

"Problem?" he asked Mitch.

"He's back," Mitch replied, not looking at Jonah. "Roger - her fiancée."

"Mitch," Jonah said, noting the rage and hate that was building in blue eyes, "don't do anything stupid. I'd rather not kill you."

Mitch's face snapped over to his boss, he looked down a bit to see Jonah's expression. Mitch was just a bit taller than Jonah, and it was enough to make giving orders awkward at times. Well, it would have been, if Jonah hadn't been such an ornery cuss.

"Boss?" he asked, wondering what Jonah was talking about.

"Murder is a crime. You kill him, it's murder." Jonah's eyes were cold and calm. "You forget already?"

"No, Boss," Mitch said, submitting to Jonah's leadership again. "But-" Protests welled up in him, but he had no way to make them clear.

"I know." Jonah paused. "Give her some time. He's not going to be the man she knew. She sure as hell isn't the woman he loved. Give them time to realize it won't work and see where she sleeps tonight. That will tell you more than anything else."

"So if she comes to me-"

"I didn't say that. See where she sleeps, not with whom she sleeps." The formal language made Jonah grin. "If I know Em, and I'm pretty sure I do by now, she's going to sleep alone until she figures out what she wants."

Mitch hesitated, then nodded. "I'll play it your way, Boss, but I don't like it."

"Never said you had to," Jonah said pleasantly. The hard part was over. "Now, go wake up Johnston and Gail nicely, get Darcy and Allison down here, and make sure Gail knows how many people are here. More may be coming. We'll split the group apart to the towns we're in contact with, especially if it's close to 100. No town will absorb more than they can afford to, and we'll make sure medicines and work are available for all."

"Some of these guys look pretty sick, Boss," Mitch said, glad Jonah wanted him to do some real work and irritated that it involved the Greens. He was better than he had been, but he wasn't good yet.

"We've got plenty of small mending tasks that need to be done, and even more sorting and recording. If they can write, type, or move their arms, we're good." Jonah looked around, counting the group. "Not many here. Might be more, though, waiting to see how we treat them." He looked over at Mitch. "What the hell are you waiting for? An invitation from Congress? Get moving."

"Right, Boss." With that, Mitch headed for the Green house, trying to keep Emily out of his mind. Mostly, he succeeded.

Jonah watched Mitch leave and sighed. Of all the trouble they had, the last thing he needed was to have Em get stirred up again.

"Well, it's better than being shot at," he muttered to himself as he walked back to the tavern. Jonah thought for a minute about his daughter, his volatile deputy, his daughter's high school sweetheart, Jake's current affair with Heather, and Emily's once-absent fiancee. "So far," he amended.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Heather and Jake walked down the street toward Town Hall. It wasn't far, but it was a pleasant distance and the wind wasn't so bad on the porch of the city building. Although he knew that Heather wasn't angry, he wasn't entirely certain the conversation he knew was coming would entail.

"So," Heather said, stopping with him in front of the doors of the Hall. The eagle's spread wings gleamed darkly in the streetlights. "How's Emily?"

"She's fine," Jake replied, his tone reflecting his confusion. Opening his mouth, he took in a breath and then paused. He had no idea what to ask.

"You're worried I'm going to do something drastic, don't you?" Heather's eyes were intent upon Jake's face, knowing that he wouldn't come out and say it.

"Yeah."

"Relax, Jake. I'm not jealous, and I won't let you be jealous, either." She took a deep breath and started to say something, but the sudden shift of Jake's attention brought her up short. "What is it?"

"Run get Eric. He's inside." When Heather didn't immediately move, he jerked his head toward the road and said, "People."

Heather didn't wait to reply. She left Jake there, his hand on his sidearm, and tore inside, calling for Eric. Eric's response was gratifyingly prompt. So were the duty officer and clerk in the Sheriff's Office.

"People coming in," Heather rushed. "Don't know the numbers. Jake's outside, on watch. Spotted them first."

"Did he give any of the codes?" Eric asked, thinking of the danger signals the Tybee Rangers had put in place when they were the Jericho Rangers. "Anything?"

"No. I think they're refugees, or at least hurt enough that he didn't need the danger signals." She paused. "Should I call up the command?"

"No, I'll get Jonah. We'll get the rest of them in as needed." He started for the door, pulling on his coat. "Best to go to the Clinic, let them know to expect a large number of people. Then go to the telegraph station. Send word to the rest of the towns that we've got a group coming in and may need to separate them, based upon the numbers involved."

"On it," Heather said, heading for the phone. She could call the Clinic. She'd have to go to the telegraph station in person, since she had one of the Rangers' badges that let her send any emergency message.

The blacksmith had created the badge based upon the sheriff's emblem, the Texas Rangers star, and the Biblical origins of the town's name. The six-point star was stylized and surrounded by a circle. In the center of the star, a cut-out formed a walled town with a trumpet engraved under the word "Ranger". Most badges had a nothing else on them; however, the officers and Runners had an extra engraving. Officers, which included those who would be officers in the Army, had a crossed sabre and trumpet. Runners had a trumpet with wings on it that was oddly reminiscent of the FTD messenger emblem. Thankfully, the smith had formed a gravity-press for the badges early on and could make them as needed. The only official badges were from him, and he was still making the badges for the first two towns. His assistants were working with him every day to keep up with the demand. Ranger badges were in no way confused with the law-enforcement badges the sheriff & deputies used. It was a running joke among Jonah's deputies who were also Rangers that they never knew what badge they were to use. No one, however, said that to Jonah. Those same jokers were quick to add they didn't want to be target practice.

She wasn't a commander or squad leader, like Jake was, but she was considered a Ranger Engineer, which made her an officer of sorts. Given that she wasn't really military-minded, it seemed like a long-winded way to say she might actually know what needed to be done in a situation like this and that she was indeed capable of doing it. Jake had laughed when she said that one morning during training, but had agreed that was indeed what it meant. Jonah hadn't laughed, though, and neither had Marcus. She still wondered why.

Putting everything out of her mind, she relayed information to the Clinic and, at their positive response, hung up and headed out for the telegraphs.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	38. The Days After: 60 through 61

**Timeline:** Bombs +60, 61

**A/N:** Tweaking timeline again. I know I've gotten away from Jonah again, but I'll be coming back to him as soon as I can. This part of the story cropped up and would not go back in its little box, so...here 'tis.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

April ran out of the house, oblivious to the cold and the hour. Mitch was there to drive the Greens to the clinic and Bailey's where a triage had been set up. Where hot coffee, tea, and food were available, the people would be more relaxed than before. She quizzed Mitch relentlessly on the way to the refugees, Johnston and Gail listening carefully.

Darcy and Allison were heading straight to the clinic to help move necessary equipment out of the basement at need. Darcy had been an excellent administrator and worked at both the Sheriff's Office as a coordinator and dispatcher and at the clinic as a general administrator. Allison, like Skylar and Lisa, had joined the Rangers, Junior Edition. While she was fascinated by and enjoyed the exercises, she was much more interested in her position in school: Medicine. She had a knack for it, and more than one person had noticed. Doc Hallowell was giving her a rough time, but April had assured her it was just the way the old codger was. Marcus, on the other hand, was glad to have a medic-in-training in his Rangers, even if she wouldn't be heading into anything dangerous for some time.

April tapped her foot on the floorboard, irritating Mitch to no end. Just as his nerves and temper were about to snap, they pulled up in front of Bailey's. Clutching her black bag, April darted inside without another word to the people in the car. Gail followed, leaving Johnston and Mitch to climb out of the car with considerably less alacrity. Johnston appreciated Gail's more svelte figure, but there were times he cursed her renewed energy with a certain air of affection. Johnston got out of the car, noting his own ease of movement now that he was eating better and exercising much more. Mitch, however, was moving slowly.

"That bad?" Johnston asked, nodding toward the stained glass and wood door.

"Huh?" Mitch looked over at the mayor, his attention suddenly diverted from his own, darker musings. "Oh, no. I mean, they're hungry, cold, and mostly sick with something, but it could be worse. A lot worse."

"Then what's the problem?" Johnston questioned, wondering what was happening to this young man who had been showing so much promise.

Mitch hesitated, then answered, "Emily's fiancée is back." He didn't need to elaborate.

Johnston nodded, his face registering the predicament. "If you need a place to stop by and talk, you know where I am most of the time."

"Thanks," Mitch said, his shiny new manners coming out despite his lack of desire to be polite to anyone. Wait. Was that the mayor just offering to listen to him bitch about Em and the fiancée? _Twilight Zone, here I come._

The mayor looked at the building, half eager, half dreading what he would see when he entered.

"Wastin' time out here," he said, not really to Mitch. "Better get to it."

Mitch nodded, then said, "I've got a few other things to do. I'll be back here later, if I can."

"What's Jo got you doing?" Johnston asked, wondering how much more jumping in he could stand from Jonah, then admitting to himself that it was better than where the two of them had been heading - and, come to think of it, Jonah had been right more than wrong of late.

"Looking for places to stay, getting headcounts, seeing what the other towns in the network can handle, what we've got for them to do to work - the usual." As if this had occurred before.

Johnston chuckled and shook his head. "Man's gettin' to be a mind-reader. Better watch yourself if you play cards with him."

Mitch actually smiled. "Not me. Learned a long time ago to keep away from cards and the Boss."

"Smart man," Johnston gave him a wry look. "I owe the bastard a bottle of bourbon." The older man tapped the hood of the car and waved to Mitch as he walked to the door of Bailey's, the center of the town's attention.

Mitch laughed as he got back into the car and drove away. As he pulled away from the curb, he noticed Miss Maddie and Laureanna St. Xavier drive up. More accurately, Father Xavier was driving while the others, which seemed to include three other people, waited to disembark. It was indeed Miss Maddie and a group of those who had learned more than a bit about first aid and triage - two grand-nieces and a friend, Letitia Perkins.

Inside, everyone worked on separating out the cases of mild hypothermia and otherwise decent health from those in dire need of medical attention. One girl, Jessica, offered her to help April and Doc Hallowell, but was politely told she needed to get warm and better before she started back into her rotation.

April had moved to the next refugee, a stunningly attractive woman with skin the colour of light coffee and only slightly matted ebony hair. Dark brown eyes started into April's as she was asked the usual questions.

"What's your name?" It was the first question after the 'what hurts' set.

"Sarah," came the answer. Her voice was husky with disuse and a bit of congestion.

"What did you do before?" April asked, not needing to elaborate.

"I was a cop in St. Louis," the woman replied.

"Oh. Do you know anyone in Jericho?" It was unlikely, but you never knew.

"Actually," Sara said, drawing the word out, "yes. I do."

J*J*J*J*J*J

Finally, it was midmorning. April was tired, not quite warm, and her back was pure misery. She fumbled with the last chart of the day before she planned to shower and go back to Gail's to sleep for a week. Or until the next emergency.

"You," came a familiar and much-loved voice, "need to sleep. Got to take care of that baby." Gail's warm, exhausted smile took the sting out of her words. "I don't want my grandbaby born with a crick in its neck."

April laughed. She'd heard that line more than once, and she understood what Gail was saying. It was a pitiful attempt at humour, but the response was a sad excuse for laughter, too.

"All right, Mom. This is the last one. As soon as I get it to the next shift, I plan to go and sleep for a long, long time."

"Mm," Gail said, walking away, "and don't forget to eat!"

"I won't, Mom." With someone who loved her nearby, it was easier to let go of the strain of the long night. As it turned out, Jessica, the young medical student, had needed only heat, food, and sleep before she was ready to join the rotation at the clinic. It was a miracle, but April was thrilled.

As she walked away from the nurse's station to find Jessica, she felt her back cramping up from her neck to past her hips. Suddenly lightheaded, she put out a hand to catch herself.

A loud clatter made Gail turn back to the hall. If Mrs. Weatherby had decided she could walk again…

Smothering a cry of anguish, Gail saw April sprawled on the floor. On her stomach.

"Get Kenchy," she snarled, grabbing the first person who came within arms' reach. "I don't care if he's stumbling over his own feet - get him here. Now!"

Jake stared at his mother, then at April. He nodded, knowing it was better Kenchy than himself, and took off for Bailey's.

Kenchy was up early today, working on extending his drunk from the night before. Jake found him easily. All things considered, Kenchy was about the only truly predictable person left in Jericho.

Inside the hospital, Jessica started an IV drip and worked with Gail to get April as stable as possible. She wasn't optimistic. April came out of her faint long enough to give some basic instructions to Jessica and Gail, but she wasn't conscious long. While she recognized that she was in labour, she had little idea of how serious her condition would be.

Kenchy, irritated and upset at being dragged away from the barstool he'd just gotten warmed up properly, walked in under protest and Jake's watchful eye. After a few moments in the same room and seeing Gail hold up a bloody hand from about mid-bed, his training and experience returned.

Snapping out a series of instructions, he sent Jessica for a set of tools and to raid the pharmacy for anything that could be used to help. Darcy's foresight had put one of the three working ultrasounds into the ER section of the clinic - Rapid Care - and Gail had gone to retrieve it. Jake was handed a stethoscope and told how to keep track of the baby's heartbeat and how to differentiate the baby's heartbeat from April's.

Less than twenty minutes later, Kenchy threw down his gloves and stomped out of the room. Bloody stubborn women! There was no way to safely perform the surgery. The only hope was to have April miscarry and maybe, perhaps, on a slim-to-none kind of odds no Vegas bookmaker would ever accept, the woman could survive. Kenchy wasn't willing to watch another patient die on his table.

"What's the problem?" Laureanna St. Xavier asked, seeing Kenchy' s dramatic exit.

"A woman is in the middle of a miscarriage and will probably bleed to death before she's done with the miscarriage, I cannot operate under these conditions and in this facility, and even if I could, I don't have the tools necessary to do it! There's no electrocardiogram here - never has been! I couldn't do the surgery if I tried - they don't even teach how to complete an operation without one! And the rest of them-" He broke off there, seeing the calm look in her eyes. Gail had just stomped out of the room, determined to have it out with this drunk, followed closely by Jessica, who simply wondered what use Kenchy would be to anyone at any time.

"Repeat after me," Laureanna said, her eyes and oasis of composure settling the emotionally charged atmosphere. "Where there is life, there is hope."

"What?" Kenchy demanded, ready to continue his tirade.

"Say it." Dark eyes, almost black, bored into his. They were hypnotic. He began to understand the allure of hypnotism.

"Where there is life there is hope," Kenchy muttered, unable to believe he was caught up in this small-town bullshit that reminded him of some bloody philosophy class he'd never liked anyway.

"As tenuous as that life may be," Laureanna continued, "it sure as hell beats the alternative. Now, get back in there and do what you can. Gail, go get Doc Hallowell. He performed more difficult surgeries in worse conditions before any of you were a twinkle in your daddies' eyes. Shoo." She turned to Jessica. "Go to my office, next to Doc's. Get my midwife's kit." She ignored Kenchy's indelicate language. "Bring the entire thing here." Finally, she returned her attention to Kenchy. He squirmed under her gaze like a naughty schoolboy who'd been caught out on his homework. "Now, between your modern medicine, my experience with pregnancies, and Doc's time in Korea, I think the three of us can manage to salvage something out of this. Come on, let's see what we've got."

After listening to Kenchy's summation of modern medicine and Doc's experienced opinion, Laureanna shook her head.

"So it comes to this," she sighed. "Kenchy, you're right. We can't save the baby. Between us, I think Doc and I can save April, but you're going to have to perform a controlled miscarriage."

"A contro - an abortion?" Kenchy's eyes grew wide. "Now you're telling me I have to give this woman an abortion without her consent? No. I can't-"

"Her consent is irrelevant," Laureanna said, overriding Kenchy's sudden attack of conscience. "Her body's already rejected this child. Controlling the miscarriage will simply keep her from bleeding to death between now and then. You said this was a torn placenta?"

"Placenta previa, yes," Kenchy said, feeling himself swept up in Laureanna's wake. How had she become so certain?

"Without inducing labour again, which would cause her to bleed out, we can't save her," Doc said, gritting his teeth. "We'll have to go in, see exactly what we're dealing with, and be very, very careful on the way out."

Laureanna nodded. "I know how to stop the bleeding for now, and the labour, but I am not a surgeon." She held up hands gnarled from hard work and age. "Twenty years ago, perhaps, but not now."

Doc Hallowell snorted. "Same here. Kenchy, you'll have to be our hands. We," he pointed to Laureanna and himself, "don't have the steadiness or delicacy anymore. I can keep her going with some attendants, give 'em a crash course in the old ways, but otherwise?" he shook his head. "I'm sorry, son, but it's up to you."

Kenchy stared at the old man, then looked down at April. She was beautiful, a pale, delicate redhead. He'd dreamed of her, growing up and studying hard in his home village. He'd gotten to England for medical school, then - dream of dreams! - to the U.S. where he had been invited to join a practice with three noted surgeons in his chosen field, plastic surgery. More than one woman he'd seen would have killed for these delicate features, this beautiful profile. What's more, this one was more than just looks - she had a brain and was an excellent doctor, given her venue. And she had hair like fire - just like the women he'd dreamed of in Las Vegas. Before.

The reality was much more sobering than the winter cold.

"All right," he heard himself say, "I'll need someone else to keep track of her heartbeat," Jake had long since gone to his other duties, the clinic rotation being a short one for all deputies until the refugees were sorted and settled. "Gloves, better light…" The list rattled on and assistants jumped to provide for him.

By order of Laureanna and Doc Hallowell, Gail was sent to work with the youngest of the refugees, a few teenagers who'd escaped Michigan shortly after the blasts. Other than a mild case of radiation, hypothermia, and incipient pneumonia, there was little wrong with the kids. While she was grateful for the distraction, she was also enraged by it. But she had been a nurse in the Army, and so she would do her duty and nurse. She was not required to like it, dammit, and, being a stubborn woman, she didn't.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Hours later, Laureanna, Doc, and Kenchy walked out of the room to find all of the Greens waiting to hear the news. Mary Bailey was there with Eric, not touching, but close enough she could be there if he needed her.

"She'll survive, but it will take her several days to gain enough strength to be moved," Kenchy said, then walked off. The harrowing hours were not ones he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

"And the baby?" Gail asked, hope in her eyes warring with unhappy knowledge.

Laureanna shook her head. "I'm sorry, honey," she said, her voice soft and tired. "The baby was too little, too unformed."

Gail turned to Johnston and he held out his arms to her. She leaned into him and wept on his shoulder, the exhausting hours and fear finally fraying her nerves into an unusual emotional display.

"She was lucky she wasn't more than ten weeks or so along," Doc Hallowell said, unwittingly dropping a bomb into the room. "Any more and, well, it was difficult enough this early."

"How…how far along was she?" Eric rasped, worry and fear beginning to lose ground to a growing certainty and nascent rage.

"Ten weeks," Laureanna supplied, "maybe eleven." She didn't ask why-her expression did that for her.

"Eleven," Gail sniffled. "She told me she was eleven weeks along before she passed out the second t-ti-i-immme…" her voice trailed off into another sob.

"Bitch!" Eric hissed, turning to the wall, suddenly oblivious to anything but his wife's continued infidelity.

"What?" Johnston asked, staring at his son. "What in hell do you mean by that? The woman almost died-"

"Almost doesn't count," Eric snapped, making everyone but Jake and Mary blink in shock. Laureanna and Doc moved away, leaving the Greens to handle their own mess without witnesses.

"What do you mean by that? What does it mean-" Gail rallied enough to question her son. This was Eric! First he started running around with that Bailey woman, now he's belittling his wife's near-death experience? How dare he!

"It means, Mom, that April forgot how to count." Eric's reply was brief to the point of vulgarity. Jake felt a cold knot forming in his stomach. No. Not now. He couldn't tell them now. Jake started to speak, but his mother and her temper beat him.

"Explain yourself," Gail hissed, stepping closer to her angry eldest. The tear tracks on her cheeks glistened in the cold, institutional lighting.

"The last time I touched her was the day the bombs went off, and before that was over a year ago," Eric snapped, his anger and hurt bypassing his internal editor. "I have no idea who the father of that child was, but it sure as hell wasn't me." With that, Eric left the room near where his soon-to-be-ex-wife lay unconscious. It hurt that she'd lost the child - his or not, he wanted children. Desperately. But why did she have to lie to him?

Gail's jaw dropped and she felt the weight of her recent actions pile onto her shoulders. Eric had turned away before she could gather her thoughts, Mary hustling to keep up with him. What she did know, though, is that she had a lot of apologizing to do.

Johnston stepped over to his wife. "Honey?" he asked, his tone worried.

"I've made a terrible mistake, Johnston," she rasped, renewed tears catching in her throat as she turned to face her husband. Her conscience. "I…don't know…" she couldn't finish the sentence.

Johnston said nothing; he just took his wife into his arms and let her lean on him. After so many years together, they understood neither was perfect. They also knew that when one would falter, the other tended to strength. No, it wasn't soulmates or any other New Age psychobabble; it was basic compatibility and learning to grow together over some of the most trying times children, war, and marriage could create.

Of the three, Johnston found children the hardest. Gail, he was certain, had a different opinion, but the third place they would agree on, of course.

J*J*J*J*J*J

"You handled yourself well," Doc Hallowell said to Kenchy. It was as close to praise from the old man anyone had ever heard. A nurse dropped a file in shock. Neither man spared her a look. "We're down a doctor, and several of these patients need more than just one of us working the rounds. Between illnesses and injuries, we're over our limit on work." Doc wasn't a fool. He could read the refusal all over the younger man's face and decided to do something he'd learned in the Army from his commanding officer in the M.A.S.H. detail. "Here's your first patient. Your shift ends at seven. Eat when you can, sleep after your work is done. I'll be asleep in my office. Wake me and you'll need a surgeon."

Kenchy stared at the old man as he stalked back to his office, complete with the nude pictures and shocking artwork. He turned to Laureanna, the amused witness.

"Is he serious?"

Laureanna heard the petulant child in that tone and stifled a smile. "Oh, yes, honey. Deathly." She looked at the clock. "You've got about five hours left, so I'd suggest you get to it. I'll be in my office in the maternity ward, such as it is." With that, Laureanna abandoned Dr. Kenchy Dhuwalia to his fate and the not-so-gentle methods of hospital administration in Jericho, Kansas; population 5,503.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Heather got the call from Jake around two-thirty, shortly after the surgery was over. They'd agreed to talk about it all tonight.

"And Jake?" she added, knowing that tonight was a bad time, but it was better than never. "There are some…things I need to talk to you about. Nothing as huge as this, but…if tonight's going to be one of those long-talk nights, well…"

"I understand," Jake said, a small smile pulling at his lips. No matter how lousy the day was - and it was - Heather could make him feel lighter. Granted, what she was saying wasn't good, and he hoped she wasn't pregnant, but it didn't sound like that kind of talk. "There are…some things we need to talk about on my side, too." It was time to tell her about Afghanistan. He was about to add something else when he was distracted by a truck from New Bern. "Look, I gotta go. Work just drove up."

"No problem," she said, smiling a little. Jake always seemed to understand what she was trying to say. "I've got to get back and make sure nobody's lopped off an arm or something."

"Nah," Jake teased, "just a few fingers."

"Eew," Heather scrunched up her nose, even though he couldn't see it. "Now I have to clean fingernail out of the press."

Jake laughed, albeit a weak laugh and signed off. Yes, it had been a shitty day, but he felt a bit better now. Only a few more hours before he got to see Heather again. Anticipation in relation to Heather was nearly as addictive as Heather herself.

Heather smiled as she hung up the phone.

"Hey! Dreamer!" Emily called, trying to work off the stress of seeing Roger again. She'd slept, badly, at Heather's cabin. Gran Lisinski had immediately adopted her and they'd talked for a long time about many things, including Roger. No miraculous solution had been reached, but now Emily had someone who would listen and nod and not give her advice and feed her platitudes about love and lust. "Get over here and help get this sorted out!"

Heather looked at the tangled profusion of cords. How had they managed to get the power tools that messed up in less than five minutes?

J*J*J*J*J*J

At Jonah's transport office, Heather and Mitch finished up the class for the day and sent the kids off to handle the rest of their chores. After that routine was up, it was a matter of minutes to load the supplies for the General Store and the handful of things the hospital needed for their electroics & equipment repair. Mitch was still teaching driving while Heather worked with Emily and Aylah pounding mechanical basics into the skulls of somewhat eager young men and women. The classes were getting younger for the beginners, but the intermediate and advanced students were mostly older teens. Some, unfortunately, were like Skylar in their mechanical abilities. Those were sent back to Miss Maddie and her relenteless scheduling with a polite note and a request to never allow them near anything with more than one moving part, provided the part didn't move very far and was considered indestructible by anything other than an F-5 tornado.

Mitch was telling a series of stories to Heather while he drove them to the General Store. Heather listened as Mitch related the days' events to her, laughing in the appropriate places; mostly when his descriptions painted the people she'd come to know quite well as caricatures.

While they unloaded, Jake walked up with two others, one of them Russell from New Bern. The sun was at such an angle that she only got silhouettes, but she recognized Jake's stride and Russell's voice. The third seemed familiar, but she couldn't place him. She could tell by Jake's voice that introductions were already underway as he walked the guests up to them.

"And this is-" Jake said, about to introduce Heather.

"Oh, we know each other," a horribly familiar voice said. The memories of hell burst into Heather's mind as soon as the first sound struck her ears. It couldn't be. It was. Him. "Hello, Sex."

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	39. The Days After: 61 evening thru midnight

**Timeline:** Bombs + 61 evening-midnightish

**A/N:** Tweaking timeline again.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

Heather felt the weight of the world drop onto her chest. She could barely breathe. For nearly 13 years, she had avoided this man successfully. Now he was standing in front of her, calling her by his favourite 'nickname' for her - Sex.

Never honey, sweetheart, darling, cutie. Just Sex. That's all he had wanted her for. Sex and a feeling of superiority.

Heather didn't speak. She couldn't. She turned around and walked away, forcing herself not to run.

Jake stared after Heather and started to follow her, but was stopped by a hand on his arm from Mitch. Whatever was going on, he realized he couldn't leave the two New Bern men with Mitch while Mitch was working on unloading. Instead, Jake turned back and listened, surprised at Heather's reaction, as Mitch asked a question.

"What did you call Heather?" Mitch asked, every protective instinct coming to the fore. He did not appreciate anyone upsetting Heather, his adopted little sister.

"Sex," the man replied, "it's an old nickname. We dated in high school." As explanations went, Mitch thought it sucked. He said nothing, but waited for Jake to finish the introduction.

"Jake, who is this asshole?" Mitch said, making Russell's eyebrows raise and the other man's eyes to narrow.

"This is Nicholas Constantino, a deputy in New Bern." Jake was still distracted. He had to get it together, and fast. "He's Phil's only kid." Now why did Jake remember that? They'd never hung out, been friends, anything, really.

"Gotta love nepotism," Mitch said, his grin flat and unfriendly. Wanting a fight and getting one were two different things, but Mitch really wanted an excuse to punch someone. Emily hadn't come home last night, meaning she hadn't climbed in Mitch's bed again.

Nicholas stiffened at the insult, but then considered the expression on Mitch's face. Whatever this man wanted, and he seemed to be a deputy, too, Nicholas was not going to give it to him.

"Why…" Jake started the question and then stopped. The question he wanted to ask and the one he kept coming back to were two different things - maybe more.

Nicholas shrugged, giving the men a smug smirk. "Couldn't keep her off of me," he bragged. "She wouldn't leave me alone, kept after me day and night. Oh, she may look sweet and innocent, but the girl'll drive you to the point of collapse in bed."

Jake heard it, knew how she was with him, and started to wonder. There was something bothering Heather, had been for a few days, but she still hadn't told him anything. That first night, well, she wasn't innocent at all. A nagging little doubt started pecking at the back of his mind. She'd seemed so guileless. Was she just another girl wanting to be known for dating him? Wouldn't be the first time it had happened.

Mitch was more skeptical. He didn't like Nicholas Constantino, he wasn't particularly enthused with Russell, and he wondered if Jake was going to get his head stuck up his own ass about this. Punching Constantino's kid might cause a diplomatic breakdown between New Bern and Jericho, but punching Jake? That was considered therapy.

"Give me a hand unloading this stuff and tell us about it," Mitch said, catching Jake's attention. The other men helped out, making short work of the load. As Nicholas talked, Mitch gauged Jake's reactions and knew that something was going to happen. What, he had no idea, but something was coming.

None of the men saw or heard Skylar standing behind Gracie's with Dale. They had just finished unloading the day's salt & other mine-provided supplies for Gracie, and Nicholas wasn't a quiet-voiced man.

The more she heard, the angrier she got. Dale was listening, almost too carefully. The basic sign language they'd learned from Bonnie and Stanley about the dairy & cow products was suddenly more useful than ordering from Bonnie's dairy.

This is bullshit, Skylar signed.

Correct, Dale signed back, unsure of how to say 'Hell yes!' in ASL.

I don't understand…why…that man…says this, Skylar continued, pausing in certain spots as she searched for a word that would fit.

Not love, Dale replied, shaking his head for emphasis. Need more. He didn't have to add the sign for information, since Skylar understood what he meant.

Need more work, Skylar said grimacing, then added, Us. With this.

Yes. Dale's emphatic agreement caused Skylar to smile. The only question left was when she'd manage to fit it into her day, given the dawn-to-dusk-and-after schedule she was running. By the time it was ten, she was falling into bed each night, sometimes without taking off her jeans and sweatshirt. Dale's days were no less hectic. He worked for Gracie, helped at the school, sometimes went into the chemist's storefront to help Jenner, and also trained with the Rangers. Occasionally, they managed to see each other for more than twenty or thirty minutes at a time during downtime, but it was rare.

Shawn? Dale signed, asking Skylar if he had learned anymore sign language since he started seeing Bonnie.

Yes. Skylar's face brightened and she leaned in to kiss him. Smart, she spelled, not knowing how to tell Dale that this was one of his best ideas. Then she lapsed into Ranger hand signals. Watch him, she pointed at Nicholas. Report.

Dale nodded. Skylar wanted more information about what they were saying, so he strolled up to the four men and nodded.

"Jake, Mitch," he said, then to the others, "Hi."

"Dale," Mitch latched onto the younger man as a way to keep from decking the assholes from New Bern. Nicholas was now pouting like a kicked puppy about Heather leaving him without saying goodbye. Russell seemed sympathetic to Nicholas, and for some strange reason, Jake was really paying attention. "This is Russell, one of the New Bern council, and Deputy Nicholas Constantino. They're helping me get the rest of this stuff in the General, but we're almost done. You done at Gracie's?"

"Yeah," Dale picked up a bag of various replacement parts that would be sorted into bins. "Planned to drop into Bailey's for dinner after this." He hadn't been, but food was always a good way to find out more about someone.

"Sounds good," Mitch said. "What say, Jake?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Sure." Jake turned to Russell who smiled.

"Like the music and the food," Russell said. "You been to Bailey's yet, Nick?"

"Not that I can think of. First trip out of town in years," he shook his head. "But if the food's good…"

"It is," Dale said, seeing Mitch's face. Whatever was going on, Jake was having a hard time and Mitch was getting pissed. They definitely needed something - somebody - to change the subject. Dale cast around for something that might distract everyone from the absent teacher-mechanic-friend, and finally figured out a question that New Bern could answer. "Got any news from over the line?"

"A few nibbles from a small town just inside Nebraska," Russell replied, glad to be rid of the topic of Heather and her ways. He didn't particularly like Nicholas, but he remembered Heather. Looking back, she didn't seem to be the manipulative type that Nicholas always said she was. But who could tell?

"And there's been contact with two more towns in north-central area," Nicholas added. Talk turned to the towns around them, the refugees and how many the towns could accommodate, and the ever-present question of trade. This conversation took them into Bailey's and to their table. Slowly, the highways and side roads were being well-patrolled, becoming safer. "Black Jack's a safe trading post now," Nicholas added, "but it's not worth the gas for us yet."

"Two hundred miles," Russell shook his head as they waited for their first round to arrive. "One way. We can't really afford it for a regular thing." He bit his tongue on the rest, not wanting to admit he didn't like the people running the post.

"Anything good there?" Jake asked, carefully not thinking about the earlier conversation.

"Mostly the kind of things we got out of the Rogue," Russell answered. "Few other really small towns left a lot of that kind of stuff. You know how that's gone."

No one needed to elaborate. Rogue River had been the opening shot of the raids into contaminated zones and abandoned homes and farms. A few areas had succumbed to water-table radiation poisoning, but hadn't received heavy fallout. Those were the goldmines. The C-130s were getting a workout, and the raid crews were becoming sharper at what was urgently needed and what wasn't.

Talk turned to the towns and the day-to-day routines in New Bern, now that the first greenhouse crops were starting to come in, but the subject of Heather loomed in the air like a poisonous cloud.

J*J*J*J*J*J

After dinner, the men split up, Nicholas and Russell choosing to stay at Bailey's to talk to others who took the convoys from town to town. Mitch, Dale, and Jake separated at the door, each heading to speak to someone. Jake hunted down Heather. It was fairly easy. She was in their room at Jonah's. Dale found Skylar at Tater's, just finishing her dinner. They spoke for a long time. Mitch, however, had to speak to his boss. Something about this just didn't sit right with him.

Jonah looked up as Mitch walked into his office and hovered by the filing cabinets.

"Problem?" Jonah asked, wondering what was bothering the man now.

"Maybe," Mitch said, turning to face Jonah. "Not mine." That expression was one Mitch knew well. Jonah'd kicked his ass more than once while wearing that expression, and Mitch was not eager to repeat those experiences. "One of the New Bern guys dated Heather, been talkin' trash."

"You didn't do anything permanent, did you?" The dry delivery almost made Mitch smile.

"Nah. Wanted to." Mitch shook his head and nearly growled. "Some of the things he was sayin' about Little Sis…but what really pisses me off is that Jake seemed to believe him."

Jonah leaned back. How did it always come back to Jacob Green? What in the hell did he do in his past lives or his past to deserve having to raise, rescue, or otherwise remain in custody of Johnston's hellraising son? Actually, if he thought about it, he could probably list those particular sins, but this was getting to be a tradition. Jake's in trouble - find Jonah. Jake's in jail - find Jonah. Jake's worried that Em's pregnant - find Jonah. Jake needs advice - find Jonah. Then again, Johnston wasn't nearly as tolerant of Jake's personality or as experienced in the darker side of life as Jonah had become. All things considered, it was better that Johnston run the town while Jonah dealt with the crime rate, which remained obligingly small. He'd only become personally involved in three occurrences since accepting this position, and each of those had been resolved easily.

Jake, however, was never easily or quickly resolved. It was his gift and his curse.

"How bad?"

"If Jake has a black eye and some broken ribs, I'll pay for the medical," Mitch replied, his anger reflected in his voice. "Fuckin' idiot."

Jonah leaned back in his chair. "Tell me everything."

Taking a seat, Mitch started talking. The longer he spoke, the colder Jonah's eyes became. By the end of the recitation, Jonah's expression was as human as a granite statue.

"And this man is still here?" Jonah asked, his voice unusually soft. Mitch shuddered.

The last time he'd heard that voice, well, he'd never forget the smell of burning flesh.

"Yeah, staying at the B&B."

"How many people heard this?"

"Only me, Russell, Jake. Maybe Dale," Mitch dismissed the younger man's involvement. "Why?"

"Think, Mitch. Who came up with windmills, half the things we use on a regular basis, information about the EMPs, and nearly a dozen more major things? Who fixed or helped to fix the majority of devices in town that needed it? Who has as many people that adore her as Miss Maddie does?" Jonah's face changed just enough to add, "I guarantee it's not Aylah."

"Heather," Mitch whispered, suddenly seeing what was getting under Jonah's skin. It wasn't the words themselves, it was the damage the town could do to itself and to Nicholas and, subsequently, to relations with New Bern. Heather was loved, accepted, and adored by Jericho's citizenry. Anything negative said about her had better be 100% accurate and 110% or more truth. It was Heather who had gotten Jake back into the town's good graces, even more than Jake's own actions.

"Who do you think stuck up for us more than once," Jonah added, unwittingly following Mitch's train of thought, "all around town? If this isn't contained," he let the sentence fade into the air.

Mitch closed his eyes. This could get ugly in ways that Jericho had never seen.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Skylar walked out of Tater's and headed over to the back entry of Gracie's. After talking to Dale and thinking for a bit, she was angry and she needed to finish some shopping for the transport office group. More than one of the original men had moved out, but others had taken their places. Most of the men and women were single or married to each other or dating, but a few of the original crew had remained. Mitch was one, Stevie and Billy another two. Jonah, of course, stayed in his room with Aylah.

Skylar pulled a few jars off the shelf, checking the canning dates and walked over to the next aisle. Gracie's had changed, but it was worth it. She was doing well, even with the changes that Gray had put into the marketplace. Given Gracie's trading acumen, Skylar knew she was doing better than most suspected. If Skylar drove a hard bargain, and she did, thanks to her father's tutelage, Gracie could wring blood from a stone. Mostly she was careful not to demand too much, but sometimes she needed a gentle reminder from Johnston to keep things as fair as possible.

Paying for the goods didn't take long, and Skylar used one of Gracie's canvas shoulder-bags to pack the groceries in and headed out the back again. With her head down, making sure none of the jars was getting bumped too much, she didn't notice her surroundings as well as she should've. It was dark and she bumped into someone.

"Oh!" she squeaked. "Excuse me!" She looked up and smiled at the person she had nearly run over, expecting to see a familiar face. It was that man from New Bern-the one who had been talking about Heather. Her smile faded a bit.

"No problem," he said, smiling down at her. She was a pretty little thing in her long skirts and hooded cape. "If you feel the need to run into me again…" It was a cute line that had always worked in New Bern.

Skylar felt her smile tighten into something like a snarl. "No, thank you. I'd rather forget I met you."

"What?" Nicholas was turning on the charm. "You don't even know my name."

"And I don't want to," Skylar snapped back. "Not after the lies you were telling about Heather."

"Wha - Ohhhh. So you overheard some of that, hmm?" He moved closer, invading Skylar's space. "How do you know I'm not lying?"

"I know Heather. She's nothing like the whore you described. Are you sure that wasn't yourself you were talking about? Ready to spread for any man?" She glanced down and snorted. "I can see why-"

He pushed and slammed her against the wall. A powerful forearm covered her throat.

"Be careful, honey," he said, his voice making the endearment into a threat. "You're a little bitty thing, and I'm hungry for something sweet."

Skylar felt her air coming short. Panic flared through her as Nicholas ground his body into hers and then leaned down to kiss her. He didn't try for her mouth, choosing instead to press his lips to her neck in a parody of lovemaking. The soft words he snarled in her ear about how he was going to make her beg snapped her out of her panic and made her temper flare. She was little, she was young, but Marcus and Jonah had made sure she was well-prepared to retaliate. A large, rough hand slid up to the buttons of her cape and pulled them apart. That same hand started on her shirt, popping buttons off while he groped for her breasts. He hadn't stopped to restrain her hands.

She didn't think about what she was doing when she grabbed the knife that Jonah insisted she keep in her belt. There wasn't any time to consider placement, just the power of the strike. _Marcus was right,_ she thought as the knife slammed into a meaty target. _It's like stabbing a side of thawed beef._ Her off-hand held the knife, but the target was large and she managed to get a good, full swing behind it. The blade sank deep.

The fist caught her on her cheek as blood covered her hand. Her other hand came around with a chunk of wood from the stacks of cordwood behind Gracie's. Firewood was not as easy to come by in Kansas as many people believed. This particular piece had been part of a four-by-four that held up a heavy door. The hinge was still on it. Stars danced in her vision as she swung with the chunk of wood. Connection.

She couldn't tell what she'd hit, but he was still standing, so she hit him again. And again. And again. Finally, she was able to push away from the wall and used the chunk of wood like a bowling ball, pulling back then slamming a hard underhanded blow to the general area of Nicholas's groin. That was the end to Nicholas's attack. He fell noisily against the dumpster, the loud, metallic sound echoing in the night. Footsteps hustled down the alley. Skylar leaned down, yanked her knife from Nicholas's side, and turned to face the new threat.

Her head hurt, her arms felt like wet noodles, and she could barely breathe. She didn't particularly care. In the weak light, the two forms slowly resolved into Mitch and Dale.

"What happened?" Mitch demanded, skidding to a stop. Then he blinked at the woman standing beside the moaning man. "Sky?"

"I bumped into him, figured out who he was, and called him a liar. He started pawing at me," Skylar's voice was angry. Mitch wasn't sure how long that would last. "So I stuck him," she held up the knife. Mitch resisted the urge to smile. He'd given her that knife when she joined the Rangers. "He hit me and I hit him back." She pointed at the wood. "With that. He wouldn't let go, so I kept hitting him until he did."

"Good job," Mitch said, checking Dale's instinctive reaction to go touch and hold Skylar. It was better that he keep his hands to himself right now. The last thing Mitch needed was to explain _this_ to Jonah. After all, he'd just finished a very quiet short-shift at the office after alerting Jonah to a potential problem with a New Bern deputy. "What lies were you talking about?"

"What he was saying about Heather," her voice wasn't past temper yet. "He's a lying son-of-a-bitch and this," she waved the knife, "should be heated and used elsewhere."

"Settle down, Sky," Mitch said, eyeing the growing pool of blood and the sound of the whimpers coming from Nicholas. Not good. "Dale, get his feet."

Dale started to object, as did Skylar.

"This is Constantino's kid. We let him die, things go bad. We get him to the clinic, he becomes somebody else's problem." Skylar didn't want to help the man who'd attacked her, but walked over to the mine truck.

"In here," she said, opening the tailgate. "I'll drive."

"You clean that knife and go to Town Hall. Tell Jonah everything," Mitch hefted the top half of Nicholas Constantino into the truck. "Dale, you're in back. I can get us to the clinic fast, but you'll need to stay out of the wind."

"Right," Dale said, jumping into the bed of the truck and tugging the injured man deeper into the truck. "Ready when you are."

Mitch turned back to Skylar. "Get your ass moving, Stevens," he snapped. "NOW!"

Skylar stared at Mitch for a minute, then felt her feet respond without her conscious decision. She headed for Jonah's office, knowing he would be there late. His hours were not the usual eight-to-five, but tended to be noon-to-eleven. It was only eight now. As she walked, she felt the adrenaline rush fade and started to realize exactly how lucky she'd been.

"What a fucking mess," Mitch muttered as he peeled out of the alley and pointed the nose of the truck to the clinic. "Jonah's gonna be pissed."

J*J*J*J*J*J

Skylar stumbled into the Sheriff's Office. Jonah had gotten up to talk to a young man in the general area about one of the files and looked up to see his ward bounce off the doorframe and right herself.

"Skylar?" he said, dodging desks and making it to her side quickly enough to catch her as her knees finally gave way. "Talk to me." The alarm he'd felt upon seeing her unsteady movements paled in comparison to the anxiety he felt when he registered the stains on her cape and shirt as drying blood.

Stuttering, Skylar began to tell Jonah what had just happened minutes ago. Tears began to course down her face as she got to the part where he'd started groping her. When she finally recounted the way Mitch had come running up with Dale, Jonah was holding her like she was his daughter.

"Okay," he said, pulling back from her and looking her in the eye. "You did good, Princess." He waited a minute and studied her face. She was pale, which was to be expected, but he was surprised to see how deep the circles under her eyes had become, even through the red blotchiness of crying. "Think you can make it back to the office?"

Skylar hesitated, then shook her head.

"I'm heading over to the clinic," he said, wrapping her back in her cape and bundling her toward the door. "I'll send you back with Mitch. Think you can stand to be around him?"

"Mitch is…" she coughed as the bruising on her throat made itself felt through the swelling and ache of tears. "Mitch is fine."

"C'mon then, Princess." He waited until they got into the car. "Hey."

Skylar turned to look at him, the now-freezing tears fading from her eyes.

"If anyone says you should've done something different, you tell them to go to hell. The only thing you could've done better was kill him." Skylar blinked at the matter-of-fact delivery. "Forget all the hype about rehabilitation and forgiveness - if you're ever attacked again by someone his size, or anyone, you don't stop until he doesn't get up ever again. Clear?"

Nodding, Skylar's wide eyes reflected her shock. "Isn't that…murder?"

"No, it's self-defense." He looked at her face carefully and added, almost absently. "Get some ice on those bruises or you're going to be in really bad shape tomorrow. How's your head."

"Hurts," she said, touching the edge of her cheek gingerly. She winced and kept feeling her way around the edges. Hurt didn't begin to describe it.

"Of course it hurts," Jonah snorted. "How bad?"

Skylar thought about it for a minute. "Worse than bruises from training, less than a broken arm."

"Definitely use ice," Jonah said. "Take some vitamin-I and try to get some sleep."

Skylar shuddered and didn't want to think of being alone in her room tonight. Nightmares visited her enough, thank you, and she didn't need to add near-rape to the ones she already had.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Jonah waited until Mitch and Skylar were on the way back to Quaker Transport and walked over to the ER section to find out what was going on.

"Talk to me," he said to the nurse on duty.

"She got him in the lung," she said, without preamble. "He's got a nasty concussion coming up and I don't know if his privates will ever work properly again. And that's the pre-op picture."

Jonah nodded and headed to the telephone. Christine walked around the corner, having taken the time to volunteer in the hospital with Randy. They usually worked in the filing and charts section, keeping new information filed and properly stored for retrieval. The increase of medical records from Rogue River and all of the private practices had made this organization a monster project. Together, though, they had turned a dismal process into a time to work together and learn even more about each other. The more Christine learned about Randy, the more she liked him.

After dialing six numbers, he heard the ring of the newly restored Hayes-Jericho-New Bern phone system. So far the connexion was successful. Now all he needed was for someone in the Sheriff's Office to pick up the damned-

"New Bern Sheriff's Office, Deputy Hansen speaking." The businesslike voice reflected years of experience in answering phones.

"Deputy Hansen, this is Sheriff Prowse in Jericho. Need to speak to Phil. He in?" Jonah forced his voice to be normal, almost pleasant.

"Sure is - just caught him. Hang on." Jonah heard the muffled sound of Deputy Hansen yelling across the office for Phil Constantino to come to the phone. "Here he is."

"Sheriff Constantino," came the low, even voice Jonah had avoided hearing for years. "Is this Prowse?"

"It is," Jonah replied, his voice now serious. How do you tell a man his son's just been stabbed by a sixteen-year-old girl he was most likely planning to rape? "You somewhere you can talk?"

A muffled noise came from the background. "I am now. What's wrong?"

"Nicholas's been hurt. It looks like a punctured lung and some pretty serious blunt-force trauma."

"What the hell happened, Prowse?" Phil growled into the phone. "Jericho's supposed to be a safe little town."

Jonah looked around the deserted room. Even the charge nurse was back in the makeshift operating room with Doc and Kenchy.

"Look, it's not going to be easy for you to hear, so I'm going to be blunt. He attacked a girl here, a 16-year-old, and from the way she was dressed, he wasn't just going to scare her."

"You're accusing my son of attempted rape?" came the indignant whisper. It was almost as good as a yell.

"He got the wrong girl. She stabbed him with a knife, then knocked the hell out of him with a hunk of wood. He's in the clinic now with our best doctors."

"Fat lot of good that is," snarled Phil. "The Green girl?"

"No, Kenchy Dhuwalia and Doc Hallowell," Jonah's voice grew colder. "Kenchy saved April's life today and Doc's saved sicker guys with worse wounds using miserable equipment. You want to bitch, get down here and bitch in person. Otherwise, get it through your head that your kid isn't an angel." Patience wasn't Jonah's long suit.

Righteous indignation crackled through the silence on the phone. "I'll be there in two hours," Phil snarled. "I want answers, Prowse."

"So do I, Phillip," Jonah snapped back, "and you'd best damned have some."

Jonah slammed the receiver back into the cradle and rubbed his eyes with one hand. _Great going, Jonah,_ he berated himself. _Information 2, bedside manner -4, overall situation, execrable._

J*J*J*J*J*J

Heather walked into Jonah's office at Town Hall, not entirely sure why she was there. All she knew was that she didn't want to be anywhere that she usually was. Rarely was she called to Jonah's town office, so this was as good a place as any.

Jonah was sitting in his office, waiting for Constantino to show up. When he heard the door open and close, he was expecting to see the dark-featured man, but was pleasantly surprised to see Heather.

"Heather," he murmured, watching her closely. "What brings you here?"

"Nothing," she said, taking a seat. She managed to stay still for a few minutes, then stood and wandered around the room. "Everything." She watched out the window of Jonah's office, then walked over to the desk. "I don't know." The wall with the antler gunrack was fascinating. How had that long scratch managed to get just there? It was an awkward position…

"Don't know or don't want to admit?" Jonah asked, willing to play along for a while. It would settle his nerves and his temper.

"Both, I guess." Heather shrugged and sat back down. "Just…needed to be somewhere that I usually wasn't."

"Anywhere-but-here?" Jonah asked, remembering Aylah's name for those days in the past where she'd just get in her car and drive. No destination was ever predetermined, but she chose each turn as she came to it. He'd joined her on one of those days several years ago, and it was a surprisingly pleasant memory.

"Something like that," she said, not wanting to say it was anywhere-but-where-Jake-might-appear.

"If you talk any more," Jonah said dryly, "I'll have to ticket you for disturbing the peace."

Heather gave him a humourless smile and was about to reply when the door opened again. Turning in her chair, she saw a bad memory walk in.

Phil Constantino strode to Jonah's office and barged in without a by-your-leave. He stopped short when he saw Heather in the chair in front of Jonah's desk.

"Heather," Phil said, making Jonah's eyes snap with irritation. "What are you doing here? Do you have something to do with this?"

"With what?" Heather asked, confused. She remembered Constantino well, and she didn't like to think of how much Nicholas was not like his father.

"She has no idea what's happened," Jonah interceded, throwing a wrench into Phil's wind-up for a tirade. "Tell her what you know and we'll work from there."

Constantino bristled at the order, but complied. "Nicky was stabbed today," he ground out, giving Heather a hard look. "Prowse said a girl did it, but the only person here would hate him that much is you - though I have no idea why, after what you put him through."

Heather's uncertain look was replaced by one of pure venom. "After what _I_ put _him_ through?" she hissed, stalking over to Phil. "You have no idea what happened between your son and me, but I'm not surprised you defend him immediately. The darling of New Bern, Nicky Constantino. Your son," she spat the word, "is a cretin and I'm sorry to say I wasn't holding the knife. If I had done it, he wouldn't have been stabbed and in the clinic." She didn't say what she would have done, but it was clear that Nicholas wouldn't have done anywhere near as well with Heather.

"The clinic just called," Jonah said, defusing the situation. "Heather, go home. Stay there." At her look of protest, he shook his head. "Just do it, Lisinski."

Heather gave Jonah an open-mouthed look, tempted to speak, but decided to listen to him. If Phil was here and Nicky was in the clinic with a serious wound, the last thing Jonah needed was her bitching about New Bern.

"Any messages for the guys?" she asked, meaning Aylah.

"Just that I'll be later than usual," he said, his eyes not leaving Constantino.

"Right," she said, and headed for the door. As soon as she was gone, Jonah motioned to the chair.

"Take a seat," he said. "I've got a little more information now."

Phil took a minute before he walked over to the proffered chair. He sat down, but maintained a dominant stance. Jonah was much more relaxed. The past two hours had been useful, especially when Anne Lisinski had called to see if he'd seen Heather today. The woman was a positive gold mine of information.

"I've got some information you're not going to like, Phil," Jonah said, his voice quiet and slow. "Most of it comes back to Nicky."

Phil took in a deep breath and nodded. Jonah started talking.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


	40. The Days After: 62, predawn

**Timeline:** Bombs + 62, after midnight, before dawn

**Warnings:** Mature content; not more than an R rating; may be difficult for some people to read given the painful memories involved.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J

After dinner at Bailey's Jake thought about where Heather could be found. She wouldn't be at her grandmother's, his parents' or the school/library. She'd be somewhere she felt safe.

Jonah's.

Jake climbed into his car and headed back to the place where he had finally cornered Heather. This time, when he cornered her, the outcome was going to be quite different.

J*J*J*J*J*J

Heather looked up as Jake walked into their room. He did not look happy. Then again, she supposed she didn't either.

"Well?" Jake said. It was all he could say at the moment, but Heather didn't know that.

"I wanted to tell you, Jake," Heather said. "I was going to tell you everything tonight." Tears welled up in her eyes, even though she cursed herself blue earlier, swearing she wouldn't start crying.

"Come here, Heather," Jake said, walking over to her and pulling her out of her chair and into his arms. She leaned into him, grateful for the contact.

"Will you say that after I tell you what all of that was about?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.

"Nothing you can tell me will change the way I feel about you, or how much you've become a part of my life." He was quiet for a long time. "Tell me."

Heather nodded and looked up at him, leaning back to see his face. "Okay." She took a few minutes to gather her thoughts. Finally, she found a place for her story to start.

"You know about my father, right?" she asked, hoping he remembered the stories about her childhood that she and Gran had told.

"That he was kicked out of his own house, your uncle raised you, and you call your uncle 'Dad' and your father 'Father' or 'Reverend'? Yeah, I remember."

"Good. Keep that in mind, okay?" She paused. "Remember when I said I was 'that popular' in junior high?" When he nodded, grinning at the memory, she continued. "That was true, as far as it went. I wasn't the prettiest, or most outgoing then. Nobody paid much attention to me, nobody popular anyway. Then after several years of anonymity, I was in my freshman year at the high school and the hottest, most popular guy in the entire school asked me to go to the homecoming dance with him." She gave a watery laugh and shook her head at her own naivete. "He was _that guy_, you know? The one guy in the entire school, even if he was a sophomore, that every girl wanted and every boy wanted to be. He was golden. He was good, talented, smart, but just wicked and wild enough to make him the sexiest male on campus. Maybe in town." Jake nodded, wondering where this was going and what it had to do with what Nicholas had said earlier.

"He asked me to homecoming. Me. I said yes, of course. What else could I say? This guy who hadn't know I was even alive for the past 14 years comes up and gives me that smile. Told me he'd been watching me since school started and he liked the way I smiled, the way I was willing to do things instead of worry about my nails. He thought I was pretty, and suddenly I was." She paused for a breath. "Me. I was the classic grease-monkey, Jake. I usually had the remnants of some car project on my hands that I just couldn't get to wash off - not even with a combination of Lava, Go-Jo, and Goop that would scour though 440 steel. I hadn't worn a skirt, much less a dress, for over six years. I lived in jeans and snarky little t-shirts - you know, the ones that say stuff like 'Binary-4 Yourself' and no one ever gets?" Jake's lips twitched, remember the hand-count for 4 in binary. "I still have that one somewhere. Anyway, I said yes, and suddenly I was Heather, not Who's-that-oh-her. It was kinda fun for a few weeks.

"The night of the dance, he took me to dinner at the hottest restaurant in town. Granted, it's New Bern, but that just made it so much more special. He treated me like I was his dream come true, and I was living in a fairy tale. We went to the dance, and had fun. We danced, joked, and in general were seen and adored. People who hadn't noticed I was even female were suddenly latching on to me, asking me what I thought about this or that…the usual. I was voted homecoming princess for the freshman class, he was the prince for the sophomore class, and everyone was thrilled for us - even the king and queen. After the dance was over, before midnight, of course, I was still on cloud nine. I mean, we'd done everything small-town kids do, we'd been virtuous, and we were still happy to be around each other after everything was over.

"To give you a better idea of what an ideal situation I was in according to everyone in town, my parents hadn't given me a curfew - I could stay out all weekend if I wanted to. I was that good a kid and he was just…perfect. No one doubted this kid. I mean, he was the most wonderful male teenager in all of Kansas, maybe even the world. Who better to take an innocent, shy, sweet girl on her first real date?" Heather sighed. "Anyway, everyone trusted him, even me. Especially me. He was two years older, sixteen, and he could drive. After the dance, we went out on his dad's property to the lake and the fishing cabin. It's more of a big gazebo with high walls, but it's called the cabin. We walked on the bridge and on the shore, watched the stars, looked at how still the water was and how bright the reflection of the sky was - it was perfect. He kissed me on the shore and I swore I was in heaven.

"Somewhere between the kiss and the cognac, he convinced me to go skinny-dipping with him. In October." Jake's eyebrows rose.

"Cold," he said, his voice neutral. "Must have been some guy."

"He was. I thought he was just as great as everyone else did, so I went along. The water was really cold, but he never touched me, not while we were swimming. I have to admit it was something that I hadn't expected to do, it was more than a bit wicked, but we still hadn't done anything really wrong. We towelled off and went up to the cabin where there were some walls, or some protection from the wind, and we snuggled up under some blankets. He produced a bottle of cognac, and we had a few. I had a few, but I'm not sure how much he drank. It's a bit fuzzy. We joked around and played a game or two while we drank, and, well, by the morning I was popular, had my first date, my first kiss, and my first drink, and…was no longer a virgin. Guess what happened next."

"He dumped you the next day?" Jake predicted, thinking of what Nicholas had said earlier in the day.

"Not hardly. I could've handled it if he had, just moved on hurt, but wiser in the ways of men and popularity. No, instead he kept me with him." She shook her head and bit her lip. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to date the town darling, Jake? It's impossible. If I didn't want sex one night - and after that first night it was a constant demand from him - or flat out refused to, the next day I'd be hearing how I said horrible things to him, hurt him deeply, and broke his heart. Who did I think I was to do something so cruel to such a sweet boy?" The tears threatened again. "And it got worse as time went on. It go to the point where we'd only go on an actual date if he'd been so rough that I was bruised or…torn. At first, he called me Sex when we were alone. At first, he wasn't so demanding. I went along. I didn't know anything about the popularity game, and I thought I was doing well.

"I was an idiot. After a while, word got around with the popular set that we were actually having sex when we were out together, so he started calling me Sex around his friends. By the time that got out, though, I was a cheerleader, extremely popular, and we had been together for over a year. We were together for three years."

"You didn't try to break it off?" Jake asked, struggling to reconcile this with the Heather he knew. "End it?"

"Oh, I did. Once, almost a year into it. He turned the entire town against me. It got so bad people wouldn't go to my dad's shop to get work done on their cars. My cousins were vilified at school, and what they said about me? Makes me sick just thinking about it." She took a deep breath and managed to continue. "I knuckled under after almost a month. I couldn't handle the stress. When he made a bit production of forgiving me and taking me back, I was so happy. The calls would stop, people would go back to the shop, everybody would be at least civil to me again. But that same night, when he took me back, he hurt me. Not just the usual way by being too rough, but he hit me. Never on the face, but that was when things really changed.

"Not long after that, word got out to more than just a few that we were sexually active, and he started calling me Sex in public. I didn't dare retaliate. If he didn't hit me, he'd hurt me other ways - he didn't have to use sex or pain. He could use everyone in town to make me a good, compliant little girl. About fourteen months in, he got jealous of my grades and my talent with machines and math. I tutored him endlessly, making him look good. Kept him on the A honour roll. I had to pretend it was getting too hard for me. I couldn't work in the shop on anything really fun. I had to stick with changing spark plugs and air filters and little things. If he found out I was doing more than that?" Heather shuddered. "He made my life hell, Jake. I was terrified of him, but I couldn't leave because I was afraid he'd kill me."

"What did you do?" Jake asked, his arms still around her, careful to hold her loosely. "What happened?'

"The year he graduated, I was a junior. He had college all picked out for me, see. I was going to Kansas State after I graduated, but he wanted some extra insurance. He started working to get me pregnant before he graduated. Every day, every time we were alone, he tried. Even if it was a few minutes, he tried. From January through the day he graduated, he tried. It didn't matter that I hurt so much I cried every time. He just wanted me tied to him forever. I had to get out, but I didn't know what to do. I finally reached the point that I was suicidal. If I didn't get out, I had already figured out exactly how to kill myself, and I was going to do it before he could get his hooks in me forever.

"Three weeks before graduation, I wrote to my grandmother & put the letter in her birthday card. I begged her to call Dad and tell him to send me to her for the summer. I told her I was pregnant - I was - and that I was terrified of the guy I'd been dating for three years. I told her that he hit me, that he forced me, and that I just wanted to get as far away from him as I could.

"When she replied, she did it in person. She flew to graduation and watched me with him. I smiled. I laughed. I was the perfect girlfriend. But when I got home, Gran sent everyone else out to the movie while she visited with me. She told them something about wanting to have some time with me before she left - it was normal. She'd visit and we'd each go out separately with her before she went home - or we'd go out and whichever child she picked would stay home with her.

"As soon as the door closed, I fell apart. I just dropped down to my knees in the hall and started sobbing. I don't remember much, but I know she packed everything I owned in the space of three hours and booked a flight back late that night. When Dad got home, she told him that I needed some time with her, I didn't know how much she told him, and I still don't." Heather took a deep breath. The worst was yet to come. "I ran away with her that night, and he came to see me the next day. Dad told him that I was with my grandmother and that I'd be there indefinitely.

"The day we got to Kentucky, we got a phone call. No one knew Gran's number. It was him. He wanted me back. He demanded I come home. I remember that we'd just unpacked and I was starting to feel safe. Oh, I was stupid to feel safe," she said, giving a bitter laugh. "He called every day that summer, demanding when I was coming home, that I get back 'where I belonged'. Finally, after Gran let me handle it for the summer, she took the phone, sent me out of the room, and I never heard from him again. She's never told me what she said, but I've pretty much figured it out since then."

Heather stepped away from Jake and took his hands.

"What about the baby?" Jake asked, wanting to know what she'd done. Was there a baby out there, adopted to some parents? Did she have the baby with her aunt and uncle? Her cousins?

"The first week I was there, Gran took me to a midwife. We were back up in the hills a good way, and there was no hospital or clinic for a while. We went into the hills, and I drank something absolutely vile, and I miscarried. Technically I miscarried."

"An abortion," Jake mumbled. He closed his eyes. Would she do the same thing now? He could see her scared and too young, trying to get rid of something that terrified her, but what about now? What if she was carrying his child? Would she do the same?

Heather nodded. "I had to, Jake. I was losing my mind, knowing that I had his baby growing inside me. Knowing that I would give him his first child. I couldn't do it. Not his. Not his." Tears shone in her eyes and on her cheeks. "It was long and painful and I cried for weeks, but I couldn't bring that child into the world."

"Alright," he said, taking a deep breath and thinking there were worse things than escaping a bad relationship. "So what happened to him?"

"He did what he had dreamed of doing for his entire life. He went on to become an officer of the law, working for his father in New Bern." Heather laughed, a tired, miserable little laugh. "And I stayed away from that damned town for ten years, Jake. Ten fucking years. When I came back, finally happy and healthy, do you know what I heard? It was all over town. One woman asked what was the big deal about me. The manager at the Save-Market Store said, 'Oh, you don't know? That's the girl who broke Nicky Constantino's heart.' I was the villain again, and I knew I couldn't live there. I moved to Jericho and the rest is a lot simpler."

Jake thought for a long minute, then shook his head. "What about those ten years? How can you stand…" he didn't know how to finish his question.

"Right. How can I stand to be with you at all, much less do everything we do?" She blew out a huge breath and walked over to the bed. Sitting down, she thought back to where she'd left off.

"I spent my senior year in Kentucky, happily anonymous again, hanging out with the grease-monkeys and working in a local auto shop. It was fun. Real fun, not the fake fun I'd manufactured for three years. I remembered how to laugh, smile, joke around, and mean it. I met a kid, his name was Yancey, like the old movie, and we became buddies. Nothing more. He was gawky and too-tall, I was about as awkward as I'd ever been, and too quiet. We studied together, worked in the garage together, and just stayed friends.

"Then it was time to graduate and I was scared again. What if no college would take me? I mean, my grades had tanked after my freshman year. Turned out that Gran knew someone at Georgia Tech, so I went there. I hated Atlanta, though, and transferred to the University of Georgia mid-year. I kept a 4.0 in all of my classes, which included some wicked maths and sciences, so UGA accepted the transfer. Yancey was there, too. We buddied up again to study for physics, math, and the rest of the classes he had trouble in; I needed some help in history and chemistry which he knew backwards and forwards. I was comfortable with him, and I could even hug him without panicking.

"I was still scared of men, but not of Yancey. He wasn't just a guy, he was…he just was. We would curl up together and study, but it was always platonic. I wasn't scared. He never tried or hinted at anything, and I began to seriously relax with him. I was as comfortable with him as I am with you, but Yancey wasn't my lover." Jake's nodded, recognizing the high praise. Heather didn't have a shy bone in her body when he was with her, and she didn't care who knew it. "The first night that started changing was during our second year together. We had a physics class that covered both semesters and the first semester was all pure bullshit bookwork. We fell asleep while studying for the first test, and that was the first night we spent together.

"He didn't…we didn't do anything, and he seemed so happy that I would just stay the night as a friend and let him hold me. Several weeks later, we'd gotten closer. The night he kissed me for the first time, he treated me like I was…precious to him. Like I was delicate and he was so sweet and careful." She smiled at the memory. "He was so awkward. But he didn't scare me. We took it slow. Always, we were friends, but we also cared about each other. I think he loved me," she paused. "I never asked, though, and he never said one way or the other. After a while, it didn't matter. When we finally got to the point we were touching more than just kissing and snuggling and then when we started removing clothes, I'll never forget the way he looked at me. Like…like I was a goddess come to Earth and he was amazed I would spend any time with him. Every time he looked at me or touched me was like a prayer or a mass. He was so sweet and careful that I wasn't afraid. I finally learned what it was like to have someone who cared about me and what I felt and enjoyed. Nicky never did - he was after his own fun and that was it.

"Yancey and I stayed together until we finished our masters' degrees. We were totally comfortable with each other." Heather gave Jake an almost embarrassed smile. "So comfortable that we worked together on a project we called the Physics of Sex, based on the Kama Sutra. We weren't, um, shy, either." Jake's eyes opened wide and he stared at her.

"What do you mean by 'not shy'?" he asked, knowing he'd regret the answer.

"Um…the documentation is pretty explicit," she admitted. "We tried it all, though, and we were able to do this because we weren't together for the physical side of things. It was a nice benefit, but we were friends first and foremost. By the time we graduated, I had healed. I finally learned, thanks to Gran's version of therapy and Yancey's gentleness, that Nicky wasn't my fault, I hadn't done anything wrong, and that I would never, ever be that scared little girl again. Nicky, despite his insistence, wasn't doing me any favours, and I didn't owe him a damned thing."

Heather shrugged. "I taught for a year or so in Kentucky, but I missed Kansas. Gran finally determined that I had finished learning most of what she could teach me, and I went back to New Bern, for a total of about a week." She laughed, a real laugh this time. "Funny thing was, Nicky got a few of the deputies to stop me for traffic violations - they didn't realize it, but he duped them into it. I talked to Con about it-"

"Con?" Jake interrupted.

"Sheriff Constantino," Heather supplied. "Most people just call him Con. Anyway, I told him about it and he voided the tickets. I had gotten something like three tickets a day for the entire week. I think he said something to the rest of the deputies, but they stopped. Nobody apologized, but they were actually nice to me from then on."

"Even Nicky?"

"I didn't see Nicky," she said slowly. "I don't know why, but I never saw him while I was there." She looked up at Jake where he was standing, looking out the high window. "So, that's that. After three years of blessed solitude and not having to worry about anyone, I met you on the worst day in history. And…I don't regret it."

Heather had finally faced up to her worst fear - telling the man she loved about her past. He'd taken it well. But he wasn't saying anything. Was that bad?

"Earth to Jake?" she offered, starting to get nervous.

Jake looked over at her, his face unreadable. He pushed away from the wall with his shoulders, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I need to go on shift," he said, "Something came up this afternoon after we talked."

Heather stared after him as he walked out of their room and closed the door behind him, trying to pretend her heart wasn't breaking.

J=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+J


End file.
